


Walk in the Park

by sunnyhomes



Category: Alien: Isolation (Video Game)
Genre: Anxiety, Cannon Divergence, Domestic Fluff, F/M, First Kiss, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, brief mentions of synthetic D, implied consensual sexual relations, our synthetic faves survive, unexpected housemates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2018-11-09 19:06:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 36,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11110947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunnyhomes/pseuds/sunnyhomes
Summary: Samuels has returned to Amanda and their new life together is a... Well, y'know. (Breifly on hiatus)





	1. Walk in the Park

It's a strange sight to behold; Samuels walking along side her, dark blue jeans, sneakers, but more peculiar is the lack of a Weyland Badge adorning his coat. He kept the colours however, and Amanda is glad because green suits him quite well. Just as freedom does. 

"What a lovely day." His emotional programming hits the 'fascination' nail right on the head. 

Amanda exhales loudly, smoky tendrils billow from the high zipped collar of her jacket. She can't disagree more. Between the clamminess of space stations and the blister-hot soldering rooms at work, she's rather acclimatized to an average of 'volcanic' degrees. But her companion had wanted to go for a walk, see the city, and grab her a coffee on the way back. _“It's the least I can do.”_

“Mm.” Amanda rolls a paper cup around in her palms, the warmth not quite travelling the distance to her fingertips. 

“Ripley?” Christopher questions. “You really didn't have to join me. I could have brought you back a drink.”

Amanda shakes her head. The nearest diner to them is through a park, past a block of unsuccessful business, and beyond the noisy industrial area- without doubt the cause of their neighbours misfortune- and they make pretty mediocre coffee. The kind that only red-eye shift workers wouldn't avoid entirely, if only in a pinch. Instead it's mostly frequented by her type. _Desperate._

“Not a chance. The coffee is bad enough if I drink it straight away, let alone after six blocks and two flights of stairs.”

Samuels laughs and Amanda is convinced it's five degrees warmer. 

“I'll take your word for it.” 

“Please. Ah, do you mind if we hold up a bit? There's a bin up ahead.” 

“Assuredly.” 

Her pal seems genuinely happy in this drizzle and icy wind and Amanda wonders what he could possibly be thinking about. Personally, she is a little off miserable and shaking, chilled down to the bits the heat of her coffee can't reach. 

They stand by the bin, Samuels waiting patiently as Amanda finishes the last of her hot drink, skipping from one foot to the other, her shoulders nearly up over her ears. 

“There's still a ways before we're... home.” There's a pause so brief Samuels almost plays it off. He watches his companion closely, her eyes flick to him and she nods impartially to his pointed comments. “You're freezing.”

She shakes her head and takes a large gulp from her cup. “I'm fine.”

“Your fingers are practically blue, Amanda. Will you take my jacket?”

Ripley pauses mid-swig.

“I'm synthetic, and can regulate my body heat. You, on the other hand, will catch a cold.”

“That's very chivalrous of you.”

“Not at all. It's practical.” 

She shakes her head, discarding the paper cup and shoving her hands into her pockets. “I'll be right for the walk home. I'm not that cold.”

“You're approximately thirty six degrees, in fact. Enough to warrant a little worry, and another thermal layer. Apologies, Ms. Ripley, but as is protocol, it is impossible for me to harm, or by mission of inaction allow to be harmed, a human being. Including standing by as you get frostbite.” Samuels smiles. “My well-being be damned and all that.”

“I'm sure that's not how that goes.” Amanda cocks an eyebrow. 

“I am a little rusty.” 

"Was that a joke?”

“Not a very tasteful one.” 

Amanda laughs heartily, weak against the charm of her synthetic friend. She would feel guilty, if only she wasn't aware of his psychosocial processes to calculate, diffuse, and influence human beings without ever being conscious of the fact. Majority of the time. 

With no further arguments Amanda allows herself to be (whilst surrendering her dignity) practically swaddled in a large powder green coat. 

“Thank you.”

“Not at all, let's get home.” 

Samuels beams at her and it's almost worth it. Almost.


	2. Hot Water Bottles & Tea

Amanda is currently wondering if she's ever witnessed someone with such absurd discomposure in her entire twenty-seven years. 

Her friend is frozen in disdain, hot water bottle in his lap, and three cotton blankets under her calming lavender wheat pack- a consolation gift signed from the late Mr. Weyland himself apparently- slung over his shoulders. Funnily enough it looks happy to be finally getting some use. Samuels is content, perhaps, in the fact Amanda had gotten home without freezing to death in the single digit temperature outside. At the same time, he's utterly paralyzed with misery.

 _No._ She concludes. 

“Samuels, you're fucking freezing!” 

Amanda had brushed his arm as it caught on her marshmallow of clothes. He'd incoherently attempted to squeeze through the door to her apartment building at the same time as her, and they were temporarily as close as they'd ever been. 

Christopher was cold as ice and shivering. And Ripley, being certain that was not a normal synthetic function, started shouldering him up the stairs despite him insisting he was feeling just fine. They'd burst through the door and she cranked the thermostat up to thirty two on full fan, all the while barking orders at him to get dry, changed, and seated on the couch directly by the vent. 

Samuels is significantly warmer now, but still cold to her touch. She wonders if he would have frozen solid, save for the percentage of oil in his vascular system. 

Amanda watches him closely, waiting for a slur of speech, or a loll of his head. Things she can fix by taking apart her conventional items and MacGyvering a defibrillator-something or other. She is an engineer after all, and a damn good one if she doesn't say so, but certified only to work with metal and machinery. She imagines trying to perform invasive repairs on her companion is quite like a surgeon operating an ion torch. 

Amanda realizes just how long she had been silently considering her housemate, under a gaze three layers deep in discomfort, and makes a beeline to the kettle. 

“What happened, Samuels?” 

Christopher looks a bit sheepish, though doesn't avoid meeting her eye. “A momentary lapse in attention. It didn't occur to me that there was an existing issue with my radiator output. It was working at sixteen percent. I've rectified the issue, but it will remain isolated for a while yet. Just a safety precaution.”

“Jesus, okay. Are there any cascading problems?”

He shakes his head. “I've run diagnostics every thirty minutes. Should be in the clear.”

“Right. I'm still going to keep an eye on you, if that's okay.” Amanda hears the kettle flick off and she takes the hot water bottle to top up. “Coffee, or tea? I don't know which one you take. Or how.”

“Don't worry about all that, just hot water for me.” Samuels pads over and seats himself on the stool directly across the breakfast bar from Ripley, replacing the heating aid over his core with gratitude. Movements still stiff and awkward, his physical age showing now more than ever.

“A bit boring, isn't it.”

“Anything else is wasted on me.”

Ripley stares, her palms twisting on the edge of the bar to lean in closer. His social calculations so far oblivious to the pressure in her stare. “It's not wasted on you. Nothing is fucking wasted on you, Christopher.” 

Samuels blinks with a touch of bewilderment and nods. “Ah, tea. However it comes would be lovely.”

“You got it!” Amanda retrieves two mugs and rounds up how much caffeine she should really be having today, given her anxiety, and grabs two tea bags. English breakfast, and awful chamomile. 

She makes his black with a sugar and tucks it into a folded tea towel, like her mother used to do when she was sick. And hers with honey and ice. 

“Don't burn yourself on this.” Amanda places her hand flat to his forehead. He's slightly colder than the human's touch, but not terribly. “Are you feeling any better?”

Samuels smiles unconvincingly. “Perfectly fine.”

“You look like hell.” She argues. 

“That is a possibility...” 

Christopher trails off and Amanda straightens abruptly. He seems otherwise functional and conscious. False alarm. 

“When did you realize you weren't producing heat?”

He doesn't answer because he can't lie. 

"You knew the whole time!"

“Please forgive me, Amanda. I'm dispensable, I have parts that are more readily replaced than yours.” He pauses briefly and she is quick to start on him. 

“God damnit, Samuels. I'm not going to lose anything important because I got a bit chilly-” 

“And I've come to believe,” he continues, holding the tea cup to his lips to blow on it. The corners of his mouth are slightly upturned, but his eyes embody pure sunshine. “That I may truly care about you. As much as a simple android can.” 

Ripley sits herself on the barstool to his right, wrapping an arm over his shoulder and resting onto him. She's emitting a very comfortable thirty-six degrees. 

If anyone were to ask, had anyone on earth payed the two any mind, she would tell them without a doubt it was purely for Samuels' benefit. A half truth. An iota of solace from the fact she'd started to adore this synthetic more than was probably deemed healthy.


	3. Tomato Soup

Amanda thinks of her mother on days like this. A winter wonderland has fallen outside and she's consumed by the memory of hot cocoa, the popping of cheese under the grill, and tomato soup rolling on the boil. A woman's hum. _You... are... my lucky... star._

She knows now with certainty, those days are long gone. 

Amanda remembers how incapacitating her depression used to become, living alone in these small rooms with nothing but her thoughts and overwhelming abandonment issues. But if it had been debilitating then, she was in no way prepared for the brutal regression after Savastopol. 

The curtains would draw for weeks and the only inhabitant of this grim hollow would lay on the couch with the TV muted, just streaming video, an ever present fear that the images would lead her into a darker spiral. Occasionally struggling through the motions; showering, eating... a glass of water became an extraordinary feat. But she had to try, she couldn't let everyone she'd lost down for nothing. 

_What would they think?_

_They're dead. They don't think at all._

And suddenly Amanda Ripley was so much worse, albeit cleaner and semi-hydrated. Humble victories. 

A muffled hum emits from the air-con unit, it's particularly bothersome today. What may as well have been the buzz of failing atmospheric infrastructure is now only the refreshing cool push of air (not that her mind knows any different), and where Samuels had interrupted her regular and unhealthy alcohol usage, digging at her temple is the only thing that drowns it all out. She pulls her knees to her chest and places her chin on a pillow as a last ditch attempt to break away from the train-wreck in her mind.

Amanda blinks, looking up for the first time all day.

A pair of curious brown eyes are staring at her from the hallway. Samuels kicks his shoes off. He'd been out shopping. How long ago did he leave?

“What's on your mind?”

"Sorry." Her eyes are glassy and out of focus. “Did you say something before?” 

“I just said, I hope you don't have any plans for dinner.” Samuels places a few bags of shopping onto the floor of the kitchen but doesn't unpack them. He leans on the back of Ellen Ripley's old cushy pink- _it's faded red, okay_ \- recliner as casually as he can, which is still remarkably formal. 

She shakes her head. “I'm not hungry.” 

“Hypothetically, would it bother you if I told you I'm close enough that I can diagnose your vitals? You have low blood sugar and you're dehydrated.” There was no way to tell if Christopher was joking, but an inkling told her he wasn't. 

“Bother me? No. Peeve me? A little, yeah.” Amanda groans, “I'm a big girl, I can manage my own diet. Thank you.” 

Samuels tilts his chin in surrender, only halfway retreating back into the kitchen before Amanda snaps at him. 

“And for the record; just because you can, doesn't mean you should!” Her cheeks are flushed and her breath catches, choking whatever she'd intended to say next... Likely to be something about minding his own. 

Samuels had never been on the receiving end of Amanda's fury. He'd been witness to it, seen her absolutely blow her stack at negligent Weyland executives. Even before they'd been formally introduced, he'd watched from his work station as _that_ engineer stormed the tenth story into HR. Sweat pouring, soot on her face, grease on her hands. 

_“A real firecracker up the ass.”_ They said. But she was the best; so just keep her happy and get her out of here.

He'd seen it once again after they'd been reunited. The Company had told him in no delicate terms he was scrap, a liability to be destroyed. Suddenly she was a force to be reckoned with, and she wasn't leaving without him no matter what leverage she had to pull from a practically endless arsenal. 

That was impressive. A true spectacle. But being in the firing line of her anger was something else entirely. He felt- _he felt_ \- small. 

“Chris.” Amanda buries her face into the pillow on her lap. “I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that.” 

Samuels calculates his position, makes sure every move will be acceptable, or hopefully okay. He sits himself beside her, and she cautiously rest into him. 

“I'm such an asshole.” Amanda feels a short squeeze around her shoulders. 

“What's going on?”

“I can't stop thinking. I'm just going fucking crazy today.” 

“Will it help to talk about it?” Samuels asks, his tone the same as ever. 

She nods slightly. “I don't know if it will help but... I've been thinking about Savastopol, and the Torrens, and everyone who lost their lives. My mother... I had to-” she chokes hard. “I had to kill people. For nothing. Because it was fucking chaos, Chris. And I can tell myself I had no choice but it doesn't make it real, I chose. It was me or them. Fuck... There had to be more deserving people on that station, why didn't they survive?”

Amanda is on the brink of emotional catastrophe. “And you, you sacrificed yourself. For nothing. Why didn't _you_ survive?”

Samuels holds her, maybe a little for his own good too. Although he'd never truly have emotion, and what he had garnered from the time with his human companion it is something far beyond his comprehension in it's entirety. This, however, he has some sense of. 

“Please, tell me what I can do to help?” 

Amanda rubs her eyes, they're jelly from stifling the tears. “It's not on you, I just need to get myself out of this.”

“Helping you isn't a burden, Amanda.” Samuels strokes her hair back into her ponytail gently. “Will you please eat something? While we talk more, if you like.” 

Amanda wants to say she's not hungry again, but at this proximity to him she's an open book. “Okay.”

Samuels gets to his feet and offers his hand. She takes it, the pillow stays in her arms. 

“I'm no physician, but I'd never underestimate the comfort of a good tomato soup.” 

Tomato soup on a winter day... There's no way he could have known. 

Amanda is thrown back nearly twenty years. She is confused, and furious, and her mother is leaving to go so far away she can't comprehend it. She cries how much she hates her and wishes for anyone but 'Ellen'. Amanda spits curses with her name because as far as she's concerned her mother is dead. And by god, did she mean all of it. Only ever until the day she's back, because she'll always be back. 

But the suited executives arrive at her door instead, and all of a sudden it's way too late for apologies, and she feels it all implode. Everything disappears, and she's left alone in the vast cosmos. 

“I didn't mean any of it. I'm so sorry, I just want to say I love you, just one more time. But she's gone. Just like everyone- gone.” Amanda's voice is faint and high, and she's struggling through her sentences. She reaches to Samuels and begins sobbing.

 _I'm not gone._ He cringes.

 _I am irrelevant._ Fact.

Chris stands, calibrating before her a moment, searching for the error. Trying to determine why his exhaust system is failing, why his hands tremble, partly convinced he'd been gutted unawares. She says he's helping just by being there, another presence in her home, even just as a friendly face. And he can't help but wonder if this is the state of her with his aid, how bad it had really become in his absence. There's an alarming chill in the skin of is face, but no matter how many scans he runs, no errors will come back. 

Samuels takes her into his arms and lowers them both to the security of the carpet, sensing that if he held her tightly it would be quite alright. Because even as the sole survivor of Savastopol, through all that loss and pain-

“For so many reasons, Amanda Ripley, the universe is so lucky to have you.”


	4. Scott Free

“Dickhead.” 

Amanda trips on her own foot, cursing breathlessly as her big toe cracks in her sneaker. She limps a few feet, composes herself, and then rounds on her friend. 

Samuels is grimacing back at the “dickhead” they're leaving in their wake. He's walking far taller than her, a tad quicker in his tread, shoulders square and fists clenched. And he just _swore_. 

The man is nudging his friends, all pointing and laughing like children. He'd muttered shameless things about Ripley's behind, and when she didn't reply, he began an obnoxious tirade that a synthetic romantic companion was the best she can do anyway. 

They _weren't_. And though defending it would only justify his rant, she'd had her fair share of “physical altercations”- as the local officers called it- in her younger life, and she was T minus two seconds away from scratching that violent itch. But seeing Samuels like that, riled up and angry, it melted her temper away. 

“Are you okay?” Amanda asks when they're out of ear shot, his dignity in mind. 

“Apologies.” 

Amanda is taken aback. “For what? I had no idea you could actually swear, within earshot of a human too. It was amazing.”

Christopher looks a little redeemed. “To be fair, he was... A dickhead.”

“Oh, definitely.” Amanda laughs.

“Though I really do have to apologize to you.”

_He really didn't._

“I'm not supposed to be programmed with active aggression, I can display it or not, but only as a ploy to manipulate situations should it ever be required of me.”

Amanda nods. She knows how it works.

“You can take care of yourself, I'm under no impression you can't, but I've never experienced anger like that before.” And helplessness. Christopher glances back at where the man sat on the curb on the construction site. He's frowning again. “It was... Involuntary. I should run advanced diagnostics.”

“Don't worry about it, they're not worth stressing out over.” Ripley unclenches her fists. She realises that she is an adept hypocrite. 

“But you've sacrificed, and continue to sacrifice so much for their lives, weather they know it or not. There's a high chance you could have saved each and every one of them, had that creature been given the opportunity to make it back to Earth. Doesn't it bother you?”

The truth was Amanda had never come to that conclusion, her thoughts were usually on other aspects about her days of survival. Gratitude hadn't once crossed her mind. And it doesn't linger there long now. 

“Not really. I mean, I didn't get back and expect a medal or anything. I just wanted to be left alone, to go back to work and pretend like nothing happened, y'know?” Ripley thinks for a second, playing with the zip on the front of her parka. “Weyland-Yutani had other plans though.” 

Christopher shamefully already knows her story but he nods along, listening intently. Is this considered lying?

“They brought out my silence. They gave me a bigger apartment, a ridiculous amount of money, and provided me with evidence that the derelict Marlow found on LV-426 had been decimated. But most importantly, they surrendered you.” 

Suddenly he is relaxed as she remembers him ever being, and smiling fondly. “Thank you again, Amanda.”

She brushes him off. “Dumb luck I was visiting the office, I'd seen other Samuels models in legal. Even worked with a few of them for the details of my leave.” _And it was the hardest thing in the world._ “If you hadn't recognized me I wouldn't have known any better.” 

“My director informed me that you'd survived and it was quite the relief. In fact, I'd already made plans to visit you, until I was given my notice.” 

“Then what?”

Samuels dips his head. “I decided it was better to leave you be. They gave me a day, to run any errands, tie it all up neatly. But visiting you would only cause you pain.”

“I can't believe those _dickheads_ would do that to you.”

He chuckles light-heartedly, despite the sombre turn of conversation. “I'm dispensable, Amanda. A tool of little use when I'm more of a liability than I am worth.”

She scoffs attractively. “And I'm more of a liability than you, so they had no choice but to let you go Scott Free.”

Samuels looks up and takes a deep, almost organic sounding breath. Or maybe she had just been around synthetics too long. 

“Not exactly free.”

Amanda questions him with her eyes. 

“Now my commitments are by choice. And I wouldn't ever choose different.”


	5. 4AM

Amanda is already awake. 

And Samuels is pretending to sleep. 

He doesn't have to look to the dull glow on his bedside table to know it's four-zero-six in the morning. The sense of time is an easy thing to keep when your body clock is digital. 

Samuels can hear the mousey strides of a woman trying to rearrange furniture. Her attempts to hide her shuffling from synthetic ears is obvious. Impractical. Impossible even. Sweet- Samuels supposes. It's not exactly disrupting him, but his rest function is blaring as he persistently snoozes the alert, concerned otherwise for his companion. 

There's a crash and the shuffling stops. A petite _“fuck”_ , and Samuels can't take it any longer. 

“Amanda?” He stands in the hallway, the grogginess of a semi-rest fading in his circuits. “What are you doing?”

Ripley mumbles an imperceptible reply as he approaches. A few jumbled words are about _"strangling blankets"_ and _“as hot as Savastopol”_. 

It's all the acknowledgement Samuels knows he's going to get. 

He glances around the room. Light from the street below sneaks under the curtain onto a lopsided mattress. It's propped lazily against the recliner and decorated only with one sad looking blanket, likely from the darkest part of the linen cupboard. 

Amanda is finished assembling a pile of rattled looking books onto the coffee table before Christopher can help her. 

“Have you slept at all?” He asks gently.

“Hm? Oh, no. Not really. I might have better luck with my bed out here in the cool air.” She poorly stifles her yawn and buries into the dubiously titled 'bed'. 

Samuels cant bring himself to turn around and go back to the spare- to _his_ room, and he can't just stand here all night to make sure she'll be okay. Confidently that, to a human's standard, would be awkward. 

“Would you mind if I made tea?” He's not asking permission as such, they'd been through this. He's only ensuring the boiling and tinkering wouldn't be too much of a nuisance. 

“Knock yourself out.” She sighs as Christopher disappears into the dark of the kitchen. 

Amanda is surprised to find the whole process noisily comforting. Having someone else in the house, a trustworthy presence going about their business. Up, alert, so she doesn't have to be. It's enough to almost smother Ripley to sleep. She's already drifting when Samuels seats himself down on the far end of the lounge. 

The room is mostly shadow, but Amanda assumes he possesses some infra-red adjustment in his retinas. _Updates_. She reminds herself, grateful that they're not glowing, white, and beady. Unlikely, considering everything "Working Joe" is probably a severe downgrade to her friend- to Samuels. 

He is peering through gaps into the empty street, to the trees and the park. Slivers of white and yellow illuminate him as vehicles passes by. He looks peaceful. Perfect. Designed. Amanda thinks to herself whilst dozing, intoxicated on this anesthetizing heaven. A warm golden cloud is taking her away to a celestial plain where everything is divine. Though she can't see him any more, Christopher is still here. Not tangibly; his presence enduring in the form of calm, and safe.

Whatever afterlife awaits him, or them both, for that matter, the thought that Samuels might just be an angel doesn't seem so illogical right now. 

She wants to stay forever. But she is pulled back to Earth as Christopher rinses his mug, his presence dissolving, and Amanda is waiting to be alone in the dark again. In the real world with the monsters. It doesn't escape her that it should be the other way around. 

“What time is it?”

“About half four.” Samuels tucks one of the lounge pillows in by her head. 

“Mm, thank you.” She says, a little more lucid. “Are you going to bed?” 

“I'll just be laying down for a while. Do you need anything?”

Silence falls and Samuels can't tell if she's asleep from this distance. 

“Would you... like to stay out here tonight? Just on the couch, you don't actually have to sleep on the floor- with me. Or whatever you want to do.” 

“Certainly.” Christopher lays down on the three seater above her, content as long as it means she'll finally get some shut-eye.

It's not long before he cannot hold rest at bay too. Most cognitive processes close, worldly attention narrows; and his hand rolls lazily off the cushion. 

Amanda takes it from the darkness. Hugging it to her chin, she feels safe enough to poke her feet over the bottom of the bed. “Thank you, Chris.”

In his limited sense of his surroundings, Samuels can feel the pulse in her neck. A reassuring, ever present drumming in his arm. It slows as she returns to sleep, her breath barely a hiss in the darkness. 

The synthetic can't recall ever whispering before in his life, but the idea of waking her troubles him greatly. 

“Any time at all, my dear.” Christopher hushes. Intertwining his fingers in her own, he can enjoy the feeling of a heartbeat for a little while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like the development of their softer side for each other. It's starting to come along now, and I love where their relationship is heading. Sorry it's been a while, I've been working a lot to make up for a trip to Perth recently. (While there, I found the Water and Daniels Pop! figurines and I've never been so stoked in my life.) The chapters will be getting regular again, they're written already I just have to go over them (editing still sucks and I suck sorry). But thanks for hangin' in there!


	6. Happenstance

Samuels sits himself in the chair by the window, enjoying what little sunlight pried through the drizzle and thick cloud. 

Amanda had ducked out for the morning thanks to uninspiring Sunday tele, and he'd completed a number of housekeeping duties to stay entertained. It had become essential to occupy himself in his spare time, without tasks at hand, he found himself absent minded and dull. 

Generously, Amanda might've called it “bored”. 

Samuels' eyes wander to the clock on the oven. It's out by approximately two minutes, but he's now aware he'd virtually absorbed two thirds of a curious edition of The Martian in just over and hour. He doesn't go missing the fact that he was not built for domesticity, especially in this state of the art, (and to be frank) incomprehensibly expensive body. 

When Samuels was recovered from space, he had been promptly rebooted for the sole purpose of completing hundreds of reports, until he believed his head might've truly been aching- impossible, he was reminded. The synthetic he was installed in could be too much at times for a simple legal system. It's programming left him feeling stuporous and lost, an infinite tide of code battering past him a million miles an hour. 

After all, it was odd that he'd never been properly rehabilitated into this new Samuels. He supposed it should have been obvious why, so as he crossed the threshold to the place of his creation, the presentation of a red slip came as little surprise. 

He was brought to his office to wait out his last hours. Not a prisoner, they'd said; he was welcome to leave at any point, but it's advised to prepare. _“To find peace.”_ Samuels didn't know if it was for his own consolation, or for the people due to end his life.

 _Samuels, you're dying..._ A familiarity was exhumed from his archives, coaxing desperation. The urgency to carry on, to avoid becoming nothing after all, removed of his memories, fond or not. He understood the nature of unfinished business. 

_Of closure._

He knew he shouldn't have looked, shouldn't have even typed in her name, and definitely should never have pressed enter. But there he sat, Amanda's file opened in his desktop. An employee, with no intention of renewing her contract. 

A few dates were scribbled down on scanned documents, hard copies confidential even to him. By choice, Christopher decided not to pry anyway- he recognised the signature of the office councillor. The dates had stopped eight months ago, replaced with frequent admissions to their Sci-Med Campus. 

Samuels could access these medical reports in case of legal issues surrounding her treatments, but would it be considered snooping? Or even within his moral parameters? This wasn't for work, after all, he was a decommissioning synthetic. It was his own errand. 

His respiratory fan seized quite unexpectedly as he clicked.

Various records of insomnia, panic attacks, and heart palpitations were transcribed on screen. Weight loss. Paranoia... The list became increasingly worrisome and he was out his office door in a second, marching to his directorate. 

They must reconsider, even temporarily. His permission might not have meant Jack, but they could do whatever they must with his consent after the fact, as long as he could see her with his own two eyes. It wasn't that he doubted the legitimacy of the reporting physicians, he just couldn't believe the unsuccessful reports themselves could ever be allowed go on this long.

He stopped at the end of his row of cubicles, making sure to look out for the approaching youthful and sinewy intern. Always busy, always rushing without gratitude. He felt for their kind. 

Her heel scuffed the grey carpet and there's a noticeable pause. Dressed casually with a yellow pass card around her neck. This adult woman, not young lady- not intern, had become _her_. Thinner than he remembered, pale, and sunken. Severely malnourished. Her jeans and shirt hung off her like loose skin, and stray hair escaped her ponytail. Still, with the power and determination in her heavy tread, energy for which was coming from god knows where.

Amanda Ripley looked like a god damned mess. Barely, if at all, keeping it together.

“Excuse me.” She wedged past. Shunning him like she'd seen no one at all.

Samuels held his hand out in front of her. He could never touch a human, not without permission, but he could question visitors on their business. As far as his motive restrictions were concerned, that's all he was doing. 

Amanda looked like she wanted to break his arm. “Can I help you?”

“Amanda Ripley, it's good to see you still alive.” The nape of Samuels' neck sizzled violently. With a sharp pop, paralysis took hold. It was suddenly apparent The Company had never intended them to meet again, the kill-switch installed without his knowledge confirmed this, should he see her, he would risk sudden deactivation. But why?

The woman backtracked a few steps, face blanched like she'd seen a dead man walking. Then again, perhaps she had. “It's not possible." Her voice cracks and she takes a long pause to swallow. "Christopher?”

It was the first time Amanda had ever used his given name; the only one belonging to a synthetic of his make. The name he personally chose. There's no confirmation as his throat constricts involuntarily. 

Samuels wanted to object to the override, teeth bared, open mouthed, when something flips inside him like a switch. A protocol. A reminder. _What are you, Samuels?_

But he'd still hesitated.

“Oh god. This is not happening.” Is all she could breathe before she was a hyperventilating mess. “If it's you, Samuels, tell me. Right now. I swear to god, do not fuck around with me.” 

Her peaking stress levels made his mind unequivocally clear. He could dip his chin once, blink, and nothing more without threat of spontaneous deactivation. By her rapid-fire pulse, this message was a success. 

“Amanda Ripley, this way please.” The director of Human Resources had spotted them both on his way over and stopped dead, his mug clattering to the ground. 

She rounded on the man like lightening. “Tell me what the fuck is going on right fucking now!” 

The man might've just been inching away, face like a pinched grape, but Samuels couldn't be certain. He seemed calm despite the vein in his forehead. 

“One of our salvage crews picked the synthetic up from deep space. Didn't take them long to figure out who and where it had originated from, but getting further information through it's god damned glitches was another problem entirely.” 

“It?!” Amanda scooted the man backward from her ferocity. 

“Yes, and it's soon to be irrelevant. The synthetic is scheduled to see the technicians by the end of the day. You have to understand, the android he is in is borrowed, and it alone represents a significant dollar value...” He trailed off, eyes glinting uneasily at her wrung hands. “Listen, I know you have acquainted yourself with this bot but it changes nothing. Had he stayed in his office as directed, you never would have seen him, avoiding all this unnecessary physiological strain. You're unwell enough and we don't need to be making it any worse, Ms Ripley. They're pulling the plug, and believe me when I say, it is for the best.” 

Once upon a time, five minutes ago, Samuel's thought the director's face was the reddest thing he'd ever seen. Was he wrong indeed. 

Amanda balled her hands. “You absolute cun-” 

The apartment’s front door swings open with an electronic click and Samuels blinks up, closing the last page of The Martian to see Amanda as he once met her. Pink in her cheeks, ponytail neat and high, and a healthy layer of sweat on her brow as she puffs and jogs into the hall. 

"Hey." Her pupils dilate remarkably as she grins his way. “That's a good read. What did you think of it?” 

“It was terrific, but-” 

“But?” She parrots.

“Well, it was quite unrelatable.”

Amanda laughs so hard Samuels is sure she's broken, and realisation hits him with brutal clarity. He is so fond of this remarkable human being, in every esteem, and owes her so much. But the measured possibility of her holding him in such regard will forever be improbable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love these two more and more every day! Hopefully you enjoyed the chapter, I kept getting my tenses mixed up so it took me longer than I'd hoped... It was a frikin' crime scene for a while there lmao. So fellow Ripuels shippers, I've decided to update on a schedule. There could be multiple chapters throughout the week but there will always be a new chapter on Monday without fail. Hope that works okay~


	7. Things Left Unsaid

Amanda stirs when the light touches her. It's directly east, morning, and early. It takes her a moment, the peaceful waking of her mind torn by a flash of sun through a viewing platform, reflections off the gas giant they're rattling towards, and she's kneeling on the bed palming everything. Making sure it's real. 

Blue lampshade, loose-knit throw on the end of the bed, poor replica The Starry Night on the wall. Spare room- _Samuels' room._

She rubs her eyes and climbs out of the fresh sheets, chiding herself for regressing so quickly this morning. There'd been a decent chunk of time put between herself and the last episode, over a week, the longest stretch since returning to Earth. 

Amanda shuffles past and Samuels looks up from where he's chopping vegetables. He pinches a potato against the bench and sets the knife down gently. 

“Amanda, have you ever been known to sleep walk?” 

“Good morning to you too, Samuels.” Amanda quips with all the humour she can manage through a yawn. “Uh, sorry. I kicked you out of your room last night, didn't I? God, I haven't been up in the night in years.” 

“It's no problem, I couldn't bring myself to move you. Also apologies, and good morning. I didn't mean to be so- abrupt, I'm feeling a little off today.”

“You okay?” She slumps against the wall, “sit down for a bit, I'll bring you something to drink.”

Samuels' smile is weary. “No need, I'd rather stay busy. If you don't mind.”

“Sure, can we take it easy this afternoon. Maybe go for a walk in the park?”

“Sounds wonderful.” 

Amanda nods and continues on to the bathroom. 

She doesn't linger too much on the fact that she'd slept in someone else's bed. Samuels bed, to be precise. Sleeping in different locations often helped her cope when she'd first moved in. On the couch, on the floor, at the table even. Then when her beds had been delivered she would alternate through her rooms, simulating the safety of movement. Survival. 

That particular lifestyle felt like it was in the past, but perhaps it had been a bad night. 

Ripley has barely filled the bath up to her ankles when she hears the clatter of metal and an unexpected curse. 

“Samuels!” Amanda snatches a towel from the rack and bowls her way through the door, slipping on her wet feet into the kitchen. “What happened?”

“Amanda, stop!” Christopher quickly submerges his hand in the sink. “It might be in your best interest to keep your distance. It may upset you horrendously, but I assure you, it's quite alright. There have been updates...” 

The water streaming over his hand is milky, and the basin is filled with what looks like coagulated cream. If Amanda had been losing that much blood she'd be sending herself to the A & E ward, which, considering her previous experience with injury, was quite a statement. 

“Some I'm not entirely used to yet.” Samuels gestures to the thinning stream of his own fluid. 

Amanda is immediately woozy by how nonchalant he is at the incision between his finger and thumb. It's reassuring to see he isn't alarmed, or more importantly, in any pain. 

“You need to let me patch that up, you're losing so much blood." There's no hesitation in classifying it as such, even if she knows better. "Jesus, Samuels! What did you do?”

He looks sheepish, deflecting her gaze either because of the foolish error, or confronted with a towel-clad human was ringing alarm bells in his parameters. “A momentary lapse in concentration. Please don't panic, give it a day and it will be repaired.” 

She glances up and his eyes divert to the sink. “How is that possible?”

“Solar.” Samuels seems to think is an adequate answer. 

Amanda shakes her head, dumbfounded. How much had he been updated really? 

“Ah, The Company found a four hundred day charge cycle too costly, and synthetics would once be out of commission for up to thee days. Solar is free and reliable, even in space. With the economical expense and accessibility to power sources came updates that wouldn't have been possible otherwise. Like self repair.” 

“So you heal?” 

“I suppose you could call it that.”

Amanda retrieves a bandage from the kitchen draw. “Can I still-?”

Samuels thinks he's hardly deserving of a medical dressing, considering infection isn't a threat, and the 'bleeding' had stopped as medical grade silicone, directed by 3D printing, began forming a seal. But is is decidedly important for Ripley's mental health, so he offers his hand. 

“Of course, if you don't mind ruining a good bandage.” 

Ripley smiles, mutters “ruined” in a voice, and scoffs under her breath. 

She takes his hand, presses the bandage down with her thumb and begins wrapping it slower than Samuels calculates she is able. 

“Chris, can I ask, how did you get off Savastopol?” Amanda doesn't speak with doubt. His brother models in legal were (though she hated thinking it) robotic, limited, and very easy to tell apart from her friend. This synthetic was no impostor, of this she was certain. 

But he had been violently rejected by a reformat chamber, she knew the extent of the damage would be fatal as soon as Apollo became aware of his presence, even if she'd disconnected him correctly. At that point, it became about minimising his pain. 

“I don't recall much, I'm afraid. Apollo began reformatting me when I initiated the connection, so when security in Synthetics was rebooted, so were my systems. I tried to find you, to help- I hope- but I never made it out of Android Orientation, an explosion shattered an orbital stabilizer and I was jettisoned through the debris.

“I didn't orbit the gas giant for long before I blacked out. By the time the reconnaissance ships picked me up I was cremated and saturated with radiation, most of my internal structure compromised by damage, corrupt data, and the incomplete transmission of Seegson protocols.” Samuels can't bring himself to stop talking as she massages his hand between hers, meticulously- and excessively to anyone else's perspective- tightening the folds of cloth. “They attempted to read my memory chip through their Mother before reinstalling me into an android. It was unsuccessful. I was stubborn, according to the captain.” 

“That's a word I'd use.” 

Amanda has done a neater job of Christopher's bandage than she ever did her own. His thumb is rubbing against the side of her hand, seemingly oblivious to why, or that he was doing it in the first place. She finds herself wondering where he'd learned such an intimate, comforting gesture. 

“Was there anything I could have said to you?”

Samuels looks perplexed. Her sudden eye contact makes him reel, searching for intention, analysing her actions for any indication of what she was feeling.

“When you were with Apollo. There was nothing I could say that would have talked you out of that room, right?” Amanda holds her breath. 

_There may have been something. But..._

“No.” Samuels says with finality. 

She realises her words would be empty, worthless, considering she didn't say a god damned thing worthwhile when it counted, and she can't go back. Who knows if either of them would be alive this moment had circumstances plotted out differently anyway. Still, she just wants him to understand.

“Okay. Because you know I would have said it, if it meant you didn't have to suffer like you did.” 

He does, and suddenly it's very clear to him. 

Though Samuels is never allowed- and has never needed- to formally request physical closeness from human beings, he can demonstrate behavioural anomalies that naturally influence their social conditioning, if he diagnoses it to improve human quality of life. Built to serve; but this time it is different. He opens his arm slightly, the offer there if she wishes to accept it, and hopes. 

Chris is amazed when Ripley immediately relaxes up to him, her arms wrapped up in the back of his shirt. He tightens hold of her around the bare skin of her shoulders, and dips his chin to her hair. For a moment he wonders if he'd be overstepping his boundaries to kiss the top of her head, but discards it for safety. 

“I do now, Amanda. And that's far more important.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yooooo I'm so excited for the next chapter /eyebrow wiggle/. Might be up in a few days! Also please for all that is wholesome, listen to "Does This Last" - Boo Seeka and tell me it is not written for Dani and Walter. I'm just???? in pain.


	8. Tomorrow, Together

She stands by a frozen lake, pushing the thin edges of ice in with the toe of her steel cap boots. She's bored and miserable, fingertips on the tingly side of frozen, and she wonders how anyone could enjoy a domestic Earth winter. 

A fraction of her past life had been dedicated to scrambling up frigid mountains and across glaciers. There'd even been promises of conquering Everest, back when her lover provided enough warmth in affirmation and encouragement. They'd inhaled from summits like Mount Kilimanjaro and Annapurna, warm hands smoothing her goosebumps away. 

_“That's a hell of a view, ain't it?”_

But he's gone, and there's nothing left for her in winter. 

Her partner seated behind her has registered the weather, accurately determining the chill, humidity, wind speed, and probability of snow. He truly is incredible, but he still can't understand the bitter _je ne sais quoi_ of sharing the cold with another. Not like she does. It's quite alright, she loves him for exactly what he is, and all that he isn't, but herein lies one of many voids they can never fully transcend. 

The cold wool of her beanie crunches as she looks up. “They're crazy to be out in the snow like this.”

“They look happy to me.”

Across the lake another pair walk, a man and a woman, their footfalls sync as their elbows tangle. The woman occasionally steps beyond her reach to flatten a pile of snow and they bump into each other gracelessly. Her friend looks like he thinks her smile is wonderful. 

“Do you think they'll be our neighbours?”

“Maybe we should introduce ourselves.” 

She scrunches her nose antisocially. They'd only been here a few days, renovations had been coming along slowly, and she'd rather focus on the literal roof over their heads than the people they may have scarce to do with. 

Her companion lifts himself off the bench, eyes locking easily as the man across the lake notices his presence. Their height is exact. Same build, different face. Older, yet far, far newer. 

“Walter?”

“Yes, Daniels?”

“Why did we come here?”

Walter thinks for a moment. She obviously questions the choice of location regarding their recovery post-trauma, and in her case, a prolonged cryosleep- instead of the more obvious reasoning- to avoid the colonists. 

They'd awoken sick and disorderly on a different planet to what they were promised, their families old or long gone. It was of quick judgement in whom to place the blame, by then vendettas had already developed. 

Walter had been technically retired, thirty-five years of single-handedly overseeing USCSS consoles had left him worn out, and The Company weren't interested in 'scrap'. Tennessee and Dani had practically walked him out the front door, and they'd gone into hiding. 

“You mean why did I recommend this district, though there were far more convenient locations available?” He asks for confirmation before answering, as is his preference, to give a more educated and honest answer.

She nods.

“You promised someone you love a lake, and woods.” His expression is subtle, but it says enough. “There isn't much free land like that on Earth, I was hoping you'd find this place an adequate substitute. Though building a log cabin in a government owned recreational area is against the law, it'd have to have been the next best thing renovating the abandoned property nearby. Once you're settled in I believe this neighbourhood will be good for you.”

She takes his face into her hands. “You mean good for us.” 

Walter smiles, he likes to be reminded there is an 'us'. “Where we are isn't as important as knowing you're here with me, Daniels.”

-

Samuels watches the woman and her synthetic over the lake. The chances are emphatically dubious that here, of all places, they would find one of the more emotionally restricted and dutiful of synthetics. Not to mention supposedly extinct. Out of production for years now. He wonders under what grounds had he been retired? Or what orders would've brought him this far from away from The Company, and within a worrisome vicinage to their home? _To Amanda's home._

His suspicions were not unfounded, and he experienced no guilt in doubting the other android's integrity. Rumours didn't serve to entertain him, but from what he'd heard, it was the direct cause and effect of the first glitchy David8 that they'd been discontinued. That humans felt disturbed by his kin, and the reason Christopher could never converse with most people without seeing them trip to the uncanny valley. 

The woman stands on her tip toes and holds his face to plant a small kiss. They exchange a few words and he beholds her softly, genuinely, but with her head tilted down he can't see how sad her eyes look under the fold of her hat. 

Chris can feel the former vindictive presumptions about his 'cousin' of sorts disappear. But imagining if Amanda ever looked like that when his back is turned causes a clomping lurch in his internal processing. 

“Samu- oh, Jesus! You're heavier than you look.” Ripley laughs, catching him by the elbow, eyeing him over worriedly. “Did I trip you?”

“No.” Samuels shakes his head, eyes a little spacey, he's paler than normal. “I'm quite alright.”

“We should get home, it's too cold to be out today.”

“But what about lunch?”

“There's food in the fridge, and in this weather I'd rather be huddled up on the couch. With you, if you don't have anything better to do.” 

Samuels frowns, “I haven't rebooted in two weeks, I'm getting a little disorganized. If you don't mind...” His voice is regulation, informative, and suddenly she's quite sure she's being pushed away. 

“Oh. Of course, sure. No problem.” She rambles, “well I'll just see you when you're done.”

As Amanda unlinks her arm, Christopher has to remind himself it's for the best to let it go. He's well aware what she is, and how she perceives him. She deserves more. _She deserves better._


	9. Not Alone

Since the knife incident, since they'd held each other like _that_ , Samuels had been touching Amanda without explicit permission. He holds her hand in the gap between their couches, brushes the small of her back while she leans by the kettle, and rests his hand on her knee at the table. The little intimacies are nice, but they never seem to happen in public or within the view of an open window. Until today. And he'd shut her out. 

Their friendship had transcended past normal the day he moved in, a synthetic and a human without the ties of employment. Room mates. Friends. More? Whatever. It doesn't bother as much as it should, the lack of human peers and family had secured her life to do with what she pleased for the last seventeen years. This is a more desirable lifestyle than the personal isolation, irresponsible brief partners, and general hazardous distractions. She wasn't hurting anyone being a little beyond cozy with a synthetic, so long as they mind their business. 

Though what _does_ bother her, is the fact Samuels had been playing along, coaxing affection from where previously it hadn't existed. And now, perhaps after realizing just how bad she had it for him, he's dismissing her very presence. 

Initially, it might have passed as a sign of discomfort. That somehow he was just uneasy displaying their regular intimacies in public, in view of others. But even as they arrived home he had gone out of his way to avoid eye contact, his back a little too straight and voice a little too 'official'. Suddenly different, and very unlike the person- the synthetic- she'd been living with the past month. 

“Amanda,” a voice comes from the doorway behind her couch.

She sighs. Christopher had been actively, and rudely at times, ignoring her since they'd gotten home, even after his reboot, and only now, at Ridiculous o'Clock does he chose to talk. 

“Samuels?” Amanda asks shortly. 

Hands rest on the back of her lounge. She can feel eyes on the top of her head, waiting for more data, an elaboration of her cautionary tone. 

“Can I ask you something kind of personal?”

“Anything.” Samuels' voice is kind, familiar, for the first time since this morning. 

“What's it like for you, being so different-” She adds gingerly- “to me. Doesn't it feel strange?”

The synthetic moves to sit opposite her, he scrunches his hands together and places them in his lap.

"I don't exactly feel, that was the very purpose of my creation.”

Amanda rubs the bridge of her nose. She really doesn't know what she expected.

“I don't understand, what do you want me to say?” 

“I don't _want_ you to say anything, Christopher!” 

“Then I won't speak.” He says decisively, as if he honestly believes that was the problem the whole time. That he'd said too much, been too opinionated- for a synthetic. 

“No. I'd like you to speak, but I'm not going to ask you to say anything in particular, only the truth. I just want to know what you think when you look at me. When we talk. I want to know if I'm going crazy or if things are changing, because I can't fucking tell any more. We're different to what we- to what you and I used to be. So much that it actually feels like there is a 'we' now. And then all of a sudden you push me away, and I don't know what I've done wrong!”

She'd seen his ghost too many times to simply brush this off, and she's not oblivious to how messed up she is without playing mind games with a robot. _Fuck right off, Amanda._

“Please, just tell me why we hold hands, and why we hug sometimes, and why you do things you're not programmed to do. I need to know. There's no way you can be doing all this, and not know how badly it's screwing with me, so there has to be something else. Right?” She ends her sentence high. Hopeful. 

“Ripley-" He stops, no longer looking at her with the wide inquisitive eyes of Christopher Samuels. "Amanda, there is no easy way for me to say this...” 

On the contrary, he hardly has to say anything at all, the tone of his voice is enough. At this point hearing it would be a cruel release, and maybe she might have even preferred it this way. Not caring is easy, though that will definitely take some time. 

“I do not feel. I am programmed with miles of code, precise operations such as cry, laugh, yell. I determine situations and I serve accordingly with my body, I was created for nothing more. You knew that when we met, when I deactivated on Savastopol, and when we were reunited.”

He's not lying, Ripley truly did know it from the beginning, but she can't help loving this person who has given up so much for her. Who's provided her with support and company, care and attention, all within a lifetime of barely letting anyone else in. 

Samuels' deep breath is humanesque and Amanda winces, it had been in gestures like this that she'd forgotten. He wants to continue but she holds her hand up to stop him. _She gets it. Really._

“Please, hear me out. You knew all that- exactly what I am, a mere device, and still you risked everything to save me from The Company. I'm not being modest when I say I'm not a selfish android, I'm simply incapable of want, and never had I considered myself to be missing out until you became the most important thing in the universe to me. I never would have expected that one day I would want you and I to be here, like this, so close to each other in ways that I'm unaccustomed to. It's a concept beyond my imaginative abilities.”

“So you'd prefer us to be more professional?”

“No, I mean- hm, this is extremely difficult.” Samuels' shakes his head as if it could make everything fall into place, his eyes search the floor for answers. “I am sorry, Amanda. This shouldn't have been dragged out for so long.” 

He pads over to kneel in front of her, the fulfillment of close interaction seems to make the thoughts come easier. 

“It was once beyond my programming to consider that I may ever be so lucky. That the bravest, most intelligent woman the universe could ever conjure up with it's infinite biological possibility and molecular circumstance, would choose me to spend her time with. Even after I was immediately responsible for one of the most traumatic events in her lifetime. 

“So please understand, Amanda Ripley, that I'm not designed to feel. To love. But here I am, so very in love with a human being. And it's excruciating because it can never be expected of her to love something that isn't real. You deserve better than I could ever give you, so I will stop everything. No more unnecessary physical contact, no more romanticizing what can never be romantic.” 

Ripley had not been incorrect in any way, it would have been far easier to be let down. There is immunity in being numb, safe from the drumming in her chest, the physical ache that seemed to leak from her bones, and the hard set frown shattering as his words sink in. The realization that she was no longer alive for herself alone. 

She slides off the couch and hides in the crook between his neck and shoulder. Her arms wrapping around his waist. His body shivers under her fingers, the warmth of skin, and the gentle hand on the back of her neck. 

"Will you say something?" Chris' voice is barely a whisper.

After listening to such rich, melodious, well articulated declarations, her voice will be hoarse by comparison, and she fears it will break this delicate creation between them. She squeezes a little tighter, convinced her eyes can burn as much as they like. She's not going to cry.

“Can you stay with me tonight?”

“If that's what you wish.”

She nods, allowing herself a second to smile and blink back the tears. Now that her friend- her partner's back is turned, his hand leading hers to bed, she doesn't feel alone any more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's official kids, I finally knocked their heads together... Nothing but love on the horizon <3 Sorry this has been updated so late, I've had one hell of a week. I'm posting on the go at 1:10AM and I work at 6~ Wehey! As always thank you thank you thank y o u for reading and giving this work your time. You don't understand how much it means to me and ilu all so much!


	10. Curiosity

Amanda Ripley is far too hot when she wakes up, but doesn't immediately panic. Facing the window she can see faint lights in the alley and rain trickling on the glass, wobbly patterns are cast into the dark corners of the ceiling. The liquid shimmer dampens the usual waking memories, and the combusting space station barely fills her with an urge to go for the laundry maintenance jack this morning. It still crosses her mind, however briefly, and Ripley swallows it down. She supposes things will be okay if this is as easy as it's ever going to get. 

She moans comfortably and wriggles away from the edge of the bed. With a start, she touches something sturdy, smooth like skin, but warmer. Her foot strokes up what might be a calf muscle. With her heart suddenly caught up with last night, she doesn't know how on earth she managed to go to sleep at all. Even for- a glance at the clock glowing on the bedside table reads 3AM- just two hours? Last night, the entire galaxy had changed within minutes and now, not only was someone else sleeping beside her for the first time in a very long while, but it also happened to be Christopher Samuels only inches away. 

His sleep is convincing enough, elbow cocked behind his head and chest rising and falling for every three of her own breaths. A quick inspection confirms she'd apparently kicked the sheets off herself and half of him, leaving them almost bare aside from her singlet and his boxers. His face lolls softly away from her, breath a delicate purr in the silence. It takes Amanda a moment to realize the sound is emanating from his abdomen rather than a rather charming snore. Though she'd never noticed it through the air-conditioner's hum constantly battling PTSD, this soft buzz was far more effective, and absolutely better every way. 

Christopher's brow furrows but he doesn't stir. Some process is keeping him sated, and bothered apparently. She wonders what it could be at this time of night, or if he can detect her thinking about him. About his mind, emotional capacity, the reasoning for hair in the pit of his arm, the point of giving a synthetic a belly button. Or nipples for that matter. Why make him so anatomically correct, and how far does that accuracy extend? 

Ripley's face burns. God, what is she, seventeen? 

Reaching out to feel his ribs, Amanda holds her breath. The layer of flesh over his geometric cage of bones is incredibly soft and malleable. The tips of her fingers buzz to the rhythm of this mysterious sound. It's very alive and calming, like the wings of a hummingbird more than the whir of a fan. 

Samuels' eyes open and he tilts his face her, not fished out of an abysmal sleep, but with immediate awareness. 

“Samuels, I didn't mean to wake you.” She rolls up onto her elbows, apologetic, gaining a little distance between them. With a human she probably could have gotten away with the curious touches, but the hyper-aware person beside her is something else entirely.

“You didn't, it's quite alright. Even if I was able to sleep, I doubt I could have brought myself to do it last night.” His eyes widen, and the awkward smile relaxes her back a little. “Not to be crude, I merely meant that sleeping around you is a waste of time.”

Amanda nods her head and knows that if she can make him out in this dim, he can definitely see the pink in her cheeks.

Other than the very literal sense, they hadn't slept together, but she'd been on the other end of the morning after ice-breakers. This is just about as close as it gets. 

“It's understandable to be curious.” Samuels says with confidence, although with this, he needs a little convincing too. “I'm sure it'd be out of the ordinary to be in bed with something like myself.”

“Someone.” Amanda corrects. 

Chris opens his mouth to argue but Amanda beats him to it. 

“I know you're being technical, but you're not just a thing.” Amanda curses her jittery hands as she risks touching his chest. “I'm not in bed with all this; the silicone and the carbon fibre, or anything else that just doesn't _matter_. I'm meat, and bone, and made of various other nasty human things, and yet here you are.” She pulls a face, obviously more practiced in the blunt than the romantic. “That came out weird. Look, I'm going to love you no matter what either of us are made of. Sure, it's strange but only because it's been a while since I've been in bed with anyone at all.” 

“Amanda?” 

She takes a deep breath, that rant could have been a little more dignifying. “Mm?”

“Did you mean that?”

“The whole lot.” She cocks her head. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No, not at all. I just thought I heard you say 'love', but perhaps I misheard.”

Ripley's gut lurches. It had been years since she'd proclaimed to _love_ anyone, or anything for that matter, and actually meant it. The ease of this casual declaration didn't make it any less true, or unimportant, but she had to admit how readily available it was to spout out at Samuels in particular is troubling. 

“You didn't.” Ripley says finally. “I do.” 

_She does._ But she is also damaged goods, and saying it properly is going to take some time. Thankfully, if the smile on her companions face is anything to go by, it's enough. 

Samuels reaches his hand up, barely inches from her face but seizes. 

“You okay?” 

His hand falls to his chest. “Of course, some inhibitors are still running-a-mock. Usually they aren't so problematic, but of course they're programmed differently for circumstances such as this.”

“Is that why you stayed as far away as possible while I slept?”

The synthetic grimaces, “unfortunately, yes.” 

“Here,” Ripley opens her hand to take his, “do you mind?” 

He shakes his head and places his palm open in hers, his fingers are brought up to kiss one at a time. Christopher watches curiously as she leans her cheek into his open hand. His thumb, imprinted with the Weyland-Yutani brand, rests carefully across her lips. It rubs gently as she speaks, though the soft texture isn't exactly pleasurable to his sensory instrumentation, the visual is preserved quite vividly in his memory storage. 

“Go ahead and assess my comfort proximity, you'll see you don't need to ask permission on every little thing if it's holding you back. You can just push the boundaries if you want, and if there's anything either of us don't want to do we just have to say so. I'm comfortable with it if you are?” Amanda releases his hand and it stays on her cheek, she hums approvingly. “Just like that.” 

“So, this is alright?” Christopher rolls onto his side so they're barely apart, his fingers brushing up her jawline. 

“Sure.” 

Though unnecessary, her companion takes a reassuring deep breath and relaxes into the bed a little more. He takes the next few minutes to explore her features, running his knuckles over her cheekbone and pushing hair away from her face. She smiles as he ventures back to touching her lips- pausing here for a second, she can no longer hear the whir of his respiratory fan. Amanda wonders just how long he can hold it without some alarm blaring. 

The very tips of his fingers stroke the side of her neck, staying well clear of her throat. Her heart jumps a little, and he must realize the last time an android likely touched her there. His hand retreats quickly and he looks at her with concern, that he'd pushed a little too far. 

Ripley takes her turn to reach forward, gingerly, soothing, waiting for any sign she might be unwelcome but sees none. 

He allows her to comb through his hair, the neat style flopping over his face messily, and then spikes it up. Her intention isn't to mortify him, but she can't help but enjoy the ruffled mop on top of his head. She gulps at the thought of his untidy hair in other scenarios and moves on in a hurry. 

The synthetic stubble of his face is a lot softer than Amanda could have imagined, for the briefest of seconds she wonders if it would scratch to kiss it. Her hands, though they're a lot hardier than her lips, find the skin smooth as she follows the engineered lines of his face to the tip of his nose. Sliding her index finger lower she meets his mouth cautiously, prepared to stop at any given second. But perhaps garnering knowledge from herself only minutes before, Christopher's lips relax and open slightly, then close against the unique print of her finger. Hopefully successful as far as first kisses go. 

Amanda's breath hitches and she takes her hand into her chest. 

“Sorry-” Christopher doesn't know exactly what for, but something made her snap back like that. “Apologies.” 

She laughs and shakes her head, “don't worry about it. You did nothing wrong. Like I said, it's just been a while.”

As if a light-bulb blinks to life behind his eyes, Samuels' head lifts off the pillow, apologetic again.

“Don't you dare say sorry.” Amanda grins into her wrist as he lays his head back down. “Is this as strange for you as it is for me?” 

Strange probably wasn't the word she was looking for. Unfamiliar. Fascinating. Infatuating?

Samuels smiles back. “Quite. Not at all unpleasant, just very new. I can't even feel my inhibitors any more, it seems like you made a good case.”

“Does that mean we can we sleep closer now?” 

"Assuredly." Chris is eager to wriggle over, his arm opens up and he stuffs a pillow into the crook of his arm so she doesn't have to lean on his unaccommodating and hard collar hinge. 

Amanda rests her ear to his chest. The humming from before allows her no room to mistake exactly what he is- how he works. And in fact, she'd been wrong. It isn't exactly because it doesn't _matter_ that he is synthetic, it is just another reason why she loves him. Without the fleshless, electronic, inorganic experience of life, Christopher Samuels wouldn't exist.

As a heavy arm closes around her to rest on her waist, she finally drifts off. The smooth kiss on her temple assures her she won't be visiting Savastopol again tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh gosh I love these two. Okay~ just a head up my lovelies, anything after now is going to be aimed at more mature audiences. They're official so there's going to be some smoochy-smoochy things. Maybe not now, maybe not tomorrow. But eventually...???? (I'll be changing the tags accordingly and putting a heads up in the notes when they're around the corner- in case you're trying to avoid it- I gotchu.) 
> 
> Thank you all once again, I swear I'm so freaking happy that you're keeping up with this and leaving me such nice words to read with my face <3 ilu sm 
> 
> (Also I just finished the Covenant novel and oh my lord, please come and yell about it with me on tumblr at altar-of-pimps. I'm not long for this world kiddies, that book is only death and cute Walter x Daniels)


	11. Dying of the Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: a bit of gnarly human blood / brief description of multiple past injuries.

Waking up together is still something to get used to. That, and having bathroom discussions. Either insisting it is fine if the other would like to go first. It's Samuels usually- Amanda with arguments as stubborn and pointy as a bull- who gets his exact four minute shower out of the way before she can take her sweet time. And he doesn't seem to mind his human companion walking around in her pyjama singlet and underwear in the meantime, which is a relief, because that happened to be a freedom she sorely missed about living alone. 

Amanda figures it probably isn't much to look at, and the aesthetics of the flawed natural body could even be lost on Samuels anyway; she should ask one of these days. A few more recent glances could have registered curiosity, or even committing things to memory. One morning she swears she'd caught him looking at her backside as she pulled a fresh towel out of the dryer. He cleared his throat- which, how necessary could that have really been?- and fluffed about making whichever bed they'd slept in that night, again, usually Samuels'. His bed is snug, and greatly preferred by the couple. 

This morning, however, there was no need for a bathroom altercation, he'd been gone before she'd even woken up. A note left on the coffee table marked with perfect script the name of the local book store and one single 'x'. Her running shoes and a folded parka by the end of the couch. This man, yes, definitely a man, an artificial genius, perfect in every way- Amanda realized just how much her endorphin addled brain had digressed- he knows her too well. 

It isn't cold enough to wear an insulated coat today, and not warm enough to jog a singlet, so she swaps it out to adorn her first Weyland-Yutani issue jacket. Thin but woollen around the cuffs and collar, practical, perfect for the in-between days as much as she hated sporting the logo of those pricks. And she heads on out. 

Amanda turns onto lap half five of the park circuit, and keels over her knees, panting and brushing the sweat back off her forehead with her wrist. She's planning on cutting right through the park this time. It's quicker, and the winding path, lined with hedges and old oil lamps, is a much nicer run than the sidewalk around it's perimeter, with nothing to see on one side but abandonment and decaying architecture. It has nothing to do with the fact that Samuels might be home by now. Or that it had started to drizzle. Ripley is more capable than that, but the idea of getting dry and warm, and flopping down somewhere comfortable with one particular synthetic is quite appealing. 

Inhaling, she heaves herself upright and skips on her toes into a jog again, picking up the pace as she turns onto the furthest stretch from her home. She ducks under some scaffolding lining the corner building and peeks inside. 

A woman is piling up wooden slats, neatly stacking them beside a wood fire, a sledge hammer cast aside by a demolished counter. 

Amanda looks back through the park, she can see the aerials and satellite dishes on the roof of their home through breaks in the trees. Grimacing, she wonders what would possess this character to move here, in the most undesired location of perhaps the entire city, and so close to their home too.

As she turns again she catches the woman staring through the stretching glassed front room. The other's eyes might have flicked to the colours of her jacket, and frowning, she gracelessly drops the armful of wood into a messy pile at her feet. 

Ripley decides she doesn't quite like the gaze of the other woman very much, her pace picks up slightly, but doesn't start running again until she reaches the path to enter the park. Almost immediately after turning, she collides with something like a rock, a hand fumbles to catch her, but in failing only manages to pull her to the ground. Too many feet tripping, a weight crashes down, her head cracking against a bench nearby, and the world turns pitch. 

When her skull stops throbbing enough to bare the light without searing her retinas, Amanda blinks up at a synthetic. His face is like a Rorschach test and two warped shapes are pointing directly at her eyes, the dark blur of his mouth is moving but no words are coming out. Or is this ringing just that loud?

A pain suddenly bats the back of her head and she curls over, tearing the band from her ponytail, palming the stabbing pain in. 

“-concussion. You need to- please- calm.” The man with the warped face draws his hand away from her as something rumbles up to them. “Please forgive- medical examination-”

Amanda whirls as he vanishes, trying to keep up with the snapshots of vision. Someone else has virtually appeared right before her, but fuzzy outlines or not, she knows who this green jacket is definitely. Samuels. He's kneeling around her legs holding the side of her face trying to get a good beat on her eyes. He could be yelling, and she could be leaning on him helplessly, but from the glimpses she'd caught, he looks furious. He's facing the other synthetic, and either she'd hit her head harder than she thought, or his face was so contorted with rage she had to wriggle away. 

Christopher must have seen her fear and calms himself immediately, a brief moment of clarity lets her see his eyes, sad, and concerned. She's being helped up with her free arm, a strong hand cradling the back of her neck, pinching along her spine gently. He must find no breaks, fractures, or cause for alarm. “What happened, Ripley? What did he do?”

“Ah, no- Samuels, just let me down. My fucking head.” She winces and holds his shoulder, her legs seemingly incapable of straightening out. “God, we need to get home. Just- ah!” She screams and pins her other hand into her head harder, buckling, Christopher catches her under her arm and she's ushered onto the offending bench.

The synthetic that had attended her to begin with is getting off the ground roughly fifteen feet away. The woman has left her renovations and is at his side, rather competently helping him by by his elbow, she barely lets on how heavy he is. 

“You!” She reels around at Amanda, clearly not phased by the total fury in Samuels' face directly aimed at her synthetic. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Ripley blinks at her for a moment in confusion. In pain. She doesn't have the energy nor clarity to answer, and gratefully doesn't have to as Chris takes the reigns, stepping to block her with a broad shoulder. 

“What are we doing here? I believe I should be asking you the same thing. We have been living here for quite a while longer than you have.” He had to spit the accusations at the previously floored, a little worse for wear David 8, inhibited from speaking to a human with such malice. 

“We?” The woman asks, she takes a step forward. “What do you mean _we_? The Company?” 

“We- me and Samuels.” Amanda swallows, tongue thick, getting air past it is like breathing through a straw. She watches the other's face drop, glancing between the two. “We're living here, not employed- not any more.”

“You expect me to believe that?” Her face tightens in disbelief, “I know that Samuels version is barely eleven months since production, and you're still in uniform. Why are you here really?”

Christopher doesn't reply, he's quite misguided in turning to Amanda for her better judgement. She teeters back on the bench, breathing deeply to stabilise herself before risking sight of her hand. 

She gulps. Ripley had never been weak to blood. Gifted a tough gut by her genes alone, hardened further through partially severed digits on razor sharp aluminium, and dropping lead so hard her steel cap boots had crushed her toes. But this? This was different. Not once had she been injured in a place she couldn't see, couldn't evaluate and accept with her own two eyes.

Coagulated red slime dribbles into the sleeve of her jacket and she gags against the restricting of her breath. “Fuck. Chris-” 

Amanda blinks a few times, the world dims, her neck cranes weakly. Samuels turns inhumanly fast and grabs her before the her head hits the backrest. He pulls her up into his chest before she can clear the edge of her perch and hit the ground. 

_I've been through worse._ Ripley thinks, the world spinning in and out of existence. Snapshots of trees and faces, hands feeding around her, poking at her eyes and wrists, a hand pushes on her throat, her jaw, someone is yelling again. And suddenly, she is only weightless. Disappearing. She doesn't matter. _But Samuels, he's going to be alone._

With one last pull, raging against the dying of the light, she hauls herself to Christopher's ear. “I don't want to- to leave you again. I'm sor-” 

“Wait, Amanda?” The voice is broken, fading quickly. “You must stay awake, don't-” 

And he's gone once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry Amanda, it was never meant to happen like this ;^; but Samuels panicked and heckin' THREW Walter for you, I can't believe it's a thing that actually happened?? Hopefully they can still be friends. But that's just our anxious android buddies!... //Seinfeld Theme// 
> 
> So this chapter is a bit of a rushed attempt to get something uploaded with one hour of Monday to spare. I've had possibly the worst week of my life. Sorry I'm gonna overshare lmao, but I had to leave a two year relationship with my best friend yesterday and they've already moved all their things out. So I've been super blue, super caffeinated, and alone, struggling to focus on this. I'm not kidding myself, my editing is sketchy and there will be mistakes I just can't find them right now sorry sorry sorry, please excuse the mess?? (it's not going to affect the frankly questionable quality of this work after this chapter dw fam)
> 
> The good news is, I picked up Covenant today, just in time to get my writing in character for the Waltiels chapters. And I got that platinum trophy for Alien Isolation. Keeping busy is A+ 
> 
> Thank y'all once again for reading <3 so much love and see you in the next one!


	12. A Synthetic's Charge

“Christopher?” 

The world is coming back in pieces, beginning with a squeeze on her wrist and a cold dampness blotting over her palm. The trickle of a wrung cloth releases an acrid smell. It strikes, rhinal like wasabi, drawing tears from her eyes and a shiver against the invasive malodorous stench. Amanda can barely squint as the ceiling fades in. Her head feels heavy, agonizing, convinced it's pinned under the tyre of a truck as she fights to help herself upright. 

“Christopher is outside, not too far away.” The voice doesn't sound too happy about the fact.

“Samuels!” Ripley calls out weakly, the pressure contained by her skull alone explodes and she chokes at the urge to heave. 

A familiar yet blurry face pokes through the nearby bar window, the door into what she glimpses to be the kitchen swings open fast. 

“What are you doing sitting up? You need to stay down in case you faint again.”

“Jesus, Chris. I'm not a Victorian woman.” Amanda holds the edge of the couch to look at Samuels who steadies her at the shoulder. 

“No, but you do have a mild concussion, and you've been pre-emptively treated for shock.” The man on the chair beside her is speaking now, the one who was bowled over in the park. 

“Where are we?” 

“Daniels' and Walter's home, it was far closer than your apartment, Amanda. The medics are on their way but unfortunately we can't bring them here.” Samuels could be glaring at the other synthetic, it's unclear. “So I have to take you home first.”

“How long was I out?”

“About 20 minutes.” The synthetic known as Walter responds before Christopher can. 

“Fuck it, cancel them.” 

“Ripley-”

“No, Chris. Seriously, the last thing I want right now is to be prodded and poked by more people.” 

Christopher squeezes her shoulder gently and turns to leave, but Walter catches him with a glance and heads out in his place. He didn't have to say anything, an understanding passed between them, and Samuels has the softest expression she'd seen on him today, still not extending as far as his brow goes. 

Once the synthetic is out the door, Amanda is shocked by Samuels' immediate change. He holds the sides of her head to inspect her eyes, manually takes her pulse, and feels along her spine again. Convinced of her somewhat questionable health, he pulls her to his chest. She winces, but hugs him back. Obviously he'd been too shaken to assess her himself, and Walter had taken over. Amanda wonders if it's why he's being bitter with him.

“It's such a relief to see you awake. How are you feeling?” 

“Like hell.” She eyes the door suspiciously. “These people, are they-?”

“Trustworthy, so far.” 

Amanda takes his word for it.

Christopher crouches in front of her so she doesn't have to raise her head to speak, her hair shields him from seeing her face but he knows she's in a significant amount of pain. “I was worried about you, you went out so fast.” 

“I can't believe I fainted like that. It was just a bump on the head. That's what it takes, after everything we've been through? Jesus. I'm sorry I worried you so much.” 

“Please don't apologize. I worry only because I love you; and because you're not like me. You can't be reinstalled if things go terribly wrong. You're glass, Amanda. And all it takes is one slip up and-”

Ripley is about to stand to argue. She's not glass, and people can think of her as fragile over her dead body. Literally. But before she can, the woman from before, Daniels, bursts through the door and Samuels backs away from them both submissively. 

“Walter cancelled the ambulance, are you sure you're feeling okay?” She places a bottle of water by her side but Amanda doesn't take it, ego will truly be the death of her one day. 

“Better now, just feeling like I've woken up from a bender. Thanks for your help.” 

“Don't mention it, we weren't going to just leave you there.” She straightens a pile of architecture magazines and pats her thigh, looking about the room, they'd been the least of her concern as wood splinters and nails lay about the floor. She clears her throat. “Sorry about the mess. I hope you've had your tetanus shots.” 

Amanda laughs. “Had to.” 

“Oh, of course. You're ex Weyland-Yutani employees?” 

“I'm still an employee, just on permanent leave.” Amanda watches her acquaintance as she is critically stared down. “But if I never have anything to do with those 'dickheads' again, I'll be happy.”

Christopher contains a small chuckle, partly blowing his synthetic helper façade. “I'm decommissioned. Like Walter, I assume.”

“Yeah we're both pretty old, and have royally outstayed our welcome with The Company.” 

“Probably for the best anyway, no good pieces of-” Amanda trails off, dabbing at the back of her head tenderly with the cloth in disinfectant. She hisses at the sting.

“If you're okay to get up, feel free to have a shower. It'd be easier to clean under the running water.” 

Samuels looks to her with care. “I'll come with you.”

“Chris-” Ripley starts, “I'm sure I can manage myself.”

“No doubt, I'll just be on the other side of the door, to hear you if you need help.” His face falls a little, “the hot water could put you down again.” 

Daniels laughs. “Hot water? Try warm. But it's just enough to be not painful.” 

Chris' hands are quick to assist his human charge without getting her up too fast. “Thank you, Daniels.” 

The woman considers her for a moment then smiles decisively. “Just Dani is okay.” 

Amanda tries her best to not wobble as she walks, but every step and dip makes her brain rattle. Holding a frown seems to help, and she steadies herself on her partner's shoulder before quickly springing back off him to walk on her own. _Again, not fucking glass._ They follow Dani's directions to the bathroom, and Samuels must pick up on the quiet, not just because of pain, but because she's pissed. 

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you.” He murmurs. “I was a bit shaken, and I didn't consider anything before I speaking. You're strong, and you're very capable, but-”

Amanda feels herself calming as he assists her onto the edge of the tub, the sudden change in elevation makes her skull burst. “But Savastopol?”

“Yes.” Chris helps as she struggles with her running shoes. “For the time I was in space I didn't know if you had gotten out, or if you'd gone with the station. The irony that after everything, I'd been the one to survive, it traumatised me while I was conscious. Then once I'd found out you were the only survivor I suppose I considered you to be permanent, indestructible, until today. And, Amanda, it was terrifying.”

Amanda flicks off her other shoe, taking a deep breath. He was right. She hadn't really afforded him much grace when it came to forgiving emotional instability. He is just as damaged as her, if not more so in a lot of ways as his memory card is one thing unable to heal. She bumps her forehead onto his and winces.

“I'm sorry, Christopher. I got angry at you for the sake of my own pride without thinking. You have every right to feel the things the way you need to, and it wasn't my place to get mad about that. I survived Savastopol, with you. I survived this bump. And we're both still here aren't we?”

“That we are, my love.” Samuels lips quirk sadly. “Are you alright with everything else?”

Amanda nods but catches him by the wrist as he turns to leave. “Could you stay in here?” She mumbles. “Just in case.” 

Samuels reseats himself and turns away as she undresses, only turning back when the slightest fog had courteously separated them. Amanda, now just a smudgy tan form behind the glass. 

He'd seen the naked human body before, obviously. As the acting medical officer of a few expeditions, he'd had to retrieve only two people in various states of undress. His programming didn't allow for any censor when it came to assisting humans in need, it was his job and nothing more. But now, with Amanda bare and only a few feet away, he can't even bring himself to look in the direction of the shower. 

He feels a tad guilty thinking about it, considering the circumstances. No human body is the same, and Amanda's in particular is a unique creation Christopher wants to interact and familiarise himself with. From the freckles to the scars to the dimples. They're all things Samuels is incapable of having himself, and that makes it a little miraculous in a way. Also sad, he supposes, that including the events of today, they all stand as reminders of how little time he could ultimately have with her. 

Before Christopher can fully realise how much his mind has wandered, Amanda is knocking on the glass. 

“What's wrong?” Samuels responds quickly. 

“Nothing, I just need my towel.” She pokes her head out of the door and gestures to the folded cloth in his lap. She looks better than before, a little dark around the eyes but the warm water had breathed spirit back into her. 

Samuels places the towel into her outstretched hand. “Are you alright if I leave you?”

A small hum leaks over the glass cubicle and he ducks out quickly. 

When dried and she'd finished rising the blood from her sleeve she heads out to find him again. 

It's a little surprising that the air in the front room had changed so dramatically while he'd been out here alone. It feels somewhat standoffish, and if she'd ever seen anxiety between synthetics Amanda would have never guessed it'd look like two immovable objects glaring each other down, whilst simultaneously minding their own business. 

“In here.” Dani calls out through the half demolished service window as she wonders past, sliding the same bottle of water to her with a smile. 

This time Amanda drinks it gratefully, leaning over to get a good look at the kitchen. She couldn't see much of it before, but the place was lovely. Dark wooden rafters and a loft filled with packing boxes. Cobblestone surrounded a wood burning fire, and directly opposite through the kitchen window, a herb garden was growing a little bit wild in places. It really was a bit of everything. 

“I never knew this place used to be a café.” 

“Yeah, it's a real fixer-upper. But it keeps us busy.” 

_Us._ The word practically cleanses Amanda. There's another _us_ in the neighborhood. 

“I would offer you a coffee, but it's game over for this old girl.” Dani pats the lid of the coffee machine squatting like a Goliath on the bench, no more than an antique now. “Leak in the water tank, seals are cracked, the boiler is broken. It's not good for anything, we just can't get it out of here with three hands between us.” 

“What if you could fix it?” Amanda is about to offer, it's nothing she can't handle. Tuning engines and fabricating metal is more in her lane, but if she can construct and maintain space worthy vessels, this bean-machine stands no chance. 

“I could, I just have no time.” Daniels looks like she's considering it for a moment, leaning back against the metal counter. “And parts come with one hell of a price tag.” 

“You're an engineer too?” 

“Mechanic.” She raises an eyebrow. “I specialised in terraforming. Are you-?”

“Just an engineer. You know, if you wanted it fixed to sell on, or even keep, I can find a lot of the parts. And if time is problem I could even fix it for you, all I need is a place to work.” 

Daniels looks to Walter who takes a second to pry his gaze away from the side of his fellow synthetic's head to catch up. “There's a shed in the courtyard. It would be functional as a workshop.”

Samuels apparently misses Amanda's subtly questioning stare, otherwise transfixed in side-eyeing in the other direction. She shakes her head, some things she may never understand. Jealousy is one of them. 

“Are you sure?” Dani leans over in thought. “It needs a lot of work, and it's an expensive job.” 

“Sure, I'm sure. I prefer to keep busy, and it's not like I'm doing anything else in retirement.” Which isn't exactly true, and Samuels pops to mind, but it's decidedly important to have a hobby that doesn't involve pestering him out of boredom. 

“Great, well you know where we are. You're always welcome to drop in. Your synthetic too.” 

Amanda is taken aback quickly. “Oh, Chris isn't my synthetic. He's-” she pauses, they hadn't exactly established what they are. Boyfriend doesn't sound right, partner sounds okay, but implies some business relationship when it comes to artificial humans. “My friend. And I could probably use his help to lift it out to the shed?” She asks over her shoulder. 

“I'd be more than glad to, as if I'm not made to serve.” Samuels calls back, his thick, accented voice is in good humour. 

“Is sarcasm within our parameters now?” Amanda manages a laugh, swallowing to dull the hammering in her brain. 

She swivels as Daniels' skin greys in fright, her eyes catch the two over her shoulder and she ducks through the kitchen door. 

“Walter?” She asks. “What is it-? That sounded like-” 

“Stay there, Daniels.” 

The synthetics are standing barely a foot apart, their eyes locked onto each other. Without the need to blink it quickly becomes unnerving. 

“Samuels, what's going on?”

“I'm unsure. Just please stay where you are too. Walter, are you quite alright?” 

Samuels barely moves an inch between the android and Amanda, and within a split second each party have the other by the throat. The David-8 replica, quicker by a fraction, manages to slam him to the ground with a thud hard enough to shake the floor boards. 

Christopher reaches his free hand up to protect the memory chip in his neck, the pop it makes upon collision causes him to lose focus, letting his elbow be pinned by a knee. The other firmly restrains him down by the chest. 

Amanda rushes forward on instinct to take the offender down, but she'd seen what her friend's tight grip around the throats of Working Joe's could do. She knew Walter would be capable of just as much, even single-handedly. As if on queue, Walter pushes Chris further into the ground. 

“What the fuck?” She yells to Daniels, slowly backing away. 

“What is wrong with you?” Walter questions, deadpan, though husky from the fingers on his own neck. 

Chris is disconcerting and calm. He could get up, easily in fact, but their has to be a less violent way to resolve this with a synthetic similar make to his own. 

“I was decommissioned- because I was proven unnecessary.” 

“False. I can see you are defective, and that makes you dangerous.”

Samuels knows what is invisible to human eyes had been plain to the other. The millisecond delay in his responses, the vagueness that comes from attempting to translate a fried chip into executable commands. It was all on display the entire time. For both of them. 

“I'm quite aware. Despite the updates, I am burned; just as you are old. But I am here for the same reason-” his words snag from the tightening grip of suspicion as Amanda creeps forward, likely wanting nothing more than a stun baton. “The same reason you are here for Daniels.”

“Then you know why I can't trust you.” 

“Just as I cannot trust you. However, it's important that we must try.” 

Walter ponders for a moment. It's a simple conclusion as far as an quarrels go. When he lifts himself off, Amanda shoulders the synthetic and drops down beside Christopher, picking him up as the other steps away as calmly. Her own pain all but forgotten. 

“What the fuck was that?” Ripley looks between the two. “Samuels. God, are you alright?” 

“Quite.” He brushes himself off. “Do we have an understanding?” 

“I believe so.”

Chris dips his chin and turns back to his partner who is baffled by the sudden change. “Would you like to go?”

Amanda scoffs. “Now I would. Fucking hell, is no one going to tell me what that was about?” 

The response is silent and apparent, and the other two watch as they leave. Daniels barely waiting to see them out before disappearing into one of the back rooms, followed by the synthetic who deadbolts the door behind them. 

“Am I going to get an explanation, ever?” She hisses. “What hell got into you two?” 

“Could we discuss this at home?” He asks, voice gentle again, albeit a tad raspy. “Out of earshot at the very least.” 

Amanda flattens the hair out of her face and sighs. Knowing synthetics could be just as stubborn as her if they really wanted, and 'later' is probably as good as she's going to get for now. “Fine.” 

She can wait, and she trusts Christopher probably does have a good reason for his actions. But with his hand around the other android's throat like that, it was hard to swallow down just how closely he reminded her of a Working Joe. And that is going to take some serious recovery time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's literally nothing to say but sorry, and you're welcome? These silly androids get themselves so worked up about protecting their loves, but at least they don't hold grudges after coming to fisty-cuffs. I thought it's about time to have some real tension in here among all the fluff, but don't worry that will be back more than ever in the coming updates 
> 
> Thank you once again for reading, it took me a million years to edit through the events of the day but i appreciate you all sticking around <3 g'night!


	13. Not Just Human Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: if you're avoiding smooches, avert your eyes, kids

Christopher Samuels had never been particularly good at confrontation with people. He didn't make mistakes, what with being a human of the synthetic kind, consistently methodical and well ordered- back when he was correctly installed at least- but sometimes unforeseen circumstances would leave him late or misinformed, and his superiors wouldn't be shy voicing their displeasure. He was barely a month old before he realised arguing back achieved nothing but untrustworthy stares. He was lesser, so he was wrong. Still, in the back of his mind lingered knowledge that whatever had happened was purely bad luck, and no matter how much these humans would carry on, he still wasn't wrong; just unfortunate. 

Being the direct cause of Amanda Ripley's quiet anger, however, he finds himself shrinking away. A nagging in his core that he well and truly- in Amanda's own words- “fucked up”. Chris can think that word now, which is still a fairly new development he would never take lightly, but right now it's appropriate. With Amanda distant and hesitant, an air about her that doesn't want to be intruded on. He knows he fucked up, _bad._

She'd been sitting at the kitchen table with her arms folded on the place mat for an hour, staring out into the park, and insistently refusing to let Samuels check the cut on her head. He'd offered her things to do, creative activities are an effective strategy against stress. A book, a puzzle, the busted toaster that has been woefully awaiting the engineers touch. Anything?

 _No._ She's _fine._

Samuels stands in the kitchen, the digital clock's simulated ticks are the only noise in the room. He ponders quietly, part considering dinner, and part projecting uncertainty at the back of Amanda's head. Her hair is down, longer now than he'd ever imagined she'd let it get. It could be neglect, or it could be freedom from employment. Either way, Samuels doesn't know if he'll be around long enough to offer cutting it for her. 

“Amanda.” Christopher states tonelessly. To put feeling in his voice now would be emotional sabotage, he's not going to do that to her, not at a time like this. “Would you like me to go?”

Amanda looks up faster than she had all afternoon, her bright eyes are diminished by a grey fatigue in her cheeks. 

“No! Why would you ask that?”

“Because you're upset with me. I'm aware that I made a mistake, I passed a harsh judgement onto that synthetic- onto Walter. Just as he may have done to me. And though I don't particularly care what he ultimately decided, the row distressed you.”

Ripley leans back and creates an emotional barrier at the wrists, arms folded tightly, holding her biceps. “I'm not upset, not any more. I just want you to talk to me.” 

“I was talking to you.”

“No.” Amanda says pointedly, “you were trying to distract me.” 

“-to break the ice.” Samuels circles around to her and takes the adjacent chair, visibly relaxing now the distance between them is filled. 

“Sure.” Ripley scrubs a palm over her eyes, pressing her headache in she winces a little. Samuels' brows knit together but she's grateful he resists saying anything. “What happened back there, Chris?” 

“I believe Walter was just protecting Daniels, or rather he thought he was. Though he alone may be trustworthy, it does prove a point that whatever has happened to him, a synthetic is to blame.” 

Amanda nods agreeably. “You think they had a problem with a synthetic. It couldn't be of your build, could it?” 

“No one can be sure except them, I wouldn't go asking however. Who knows how that synthetic would react to anything, he's unpredictable for a Walter series. They were supposed to be far more reserved than the prodigious David.” Chris waves a hand in deliberation. “Hardly complex processors, they developed them to be centred around duty. Servitude. But-” 

“But?”

“How did he find a romantic- I'm assuming romantic- companion, in a human no less?” 

Amanda snorts with laughter, “what a nightmare.”

Chris smiles back, it's slight and a little sarcastic if you ask Ripley. “That's not what I mean. It's all just very- unsavoury.” 

There's a look in Samuels' eyes that's very telling of something else, he takes a deep inward breath through his nose and squeezes his fingertips into his knee. It's so obvious, Amanda feels like she's been slapped in the face. 

Walking through Seegson Synthetics in the wake of him was something to behold. Disembowelled and quite literally disarmed Working Joes scattered about the place, the ground slippery with white blood. 

Christopher had never shown remorse for what he'd done to them; that isn't what this is about. He doesn't trust androids, and he doesn't think Amanda should either. 

“What happened, Samuels?” 

He looks up, an eyebrow creased in discomfort. The synthetic might have become visibly cadaverous, his face like ash, but there's no way to be sure if the technology to simulate one's skin colour with emotional response even exists, or Amanda is projecting it onto him. 

“You know that I would deactivate on the spot if there was even a chance I'd hurt you?” 

“Don't joke about that.” Ripley eyes him sternly. 

“I'm not. You were frightened of me, Amanda. I think I may now know what Walter saw, why I'm dysfunctional, and dangerous. Seegson protocols were reformatted in me, I saw them, processed them for a time. I constantly run scans, and it seems they didn't make it to this body, but they could be underlying.” 

Ripley reaches forward to take his hands over the table. “You think you're going to switch, that they're going to run over your Weyland programming one day?” 

Samuels doesn't respond, but he may as well have. 

“Chris, have you considered this could be a form of PTSD?” She squeezes his knuckles gently until he looks at her, a little incredulously. “Listen, maybe it's a glitch or something? It's nothing to be ashamed of, I mean, you've seen mine first hand, it gets pretty messy. And hell, sometimes I think I'm wired all wrong, but I didn't have such careful hands to design me so it's more likely. Your trauma could be completely different. But that's all it is, you're Christopher Samuels, superior in every way to those Seegson shits and they're never going to get their hold on you. Okay?” 

Christopher pinches his eyes closed with a finger and a thumb. “I would rather minimise any threat to you, including myself. I can always deactivate my anger programs.”

Amanda lunges forward and clutches him desperately by the shirt. “No! Christopher, oh my god. You shouldn't restrict what you feel, not for my fucking sake. Yes, okay, I was scared. But that's my problem, not yours. I also get scared of my alarm clock, and when the neighbour's cat hisses in the hallway I almost have a heart-attack. But I feel it, and you always help me cope. Can I do the same for you?” 

“How is that possible? You're not able to reprogram me.” Samuels queries professionally, something tells Amanda he might have already subdued his emotional capacity, even slightly. 

Ripley squints at him, direct and piercing. “Distractions. Someone to listen. Therapy.” 

“I appreciate the offer, but I doubt therapy is going to be very effective-” Chris cuts himself short as Amanda moves over to his to sit across his lap, straddling him on the chair. She wraps her arms around his neck and softly melts him into a tight embrace, fingers feeding through the hair on the back of his head. 

“I'm not qualified to give real therapy, but this always helps me.” Ripley plants a kiss on the tip of Chris' ear and buries her face into the crook of his neck. 

Samuels feels strange. His eyelids are suddenly heavy at the soothing touch of her hot cheek on his shoulder, her silky hair on the side of his face, skin crawling pleasantly as the fingertips comb his hair. His arms find their way around her waist and he squeezes her back, gently at first, they grow into a comforting pressure like the arms of a bear. Hot and protective, soft- padded by his big green jacket. 

“Thank you, Amanda.” He whispers, shuddering- he really shouldn't be able to do that- at the feeling of her shaking her head into the collar of his jacket. 

Ripley leans back, her waist arches, pinned to Chris' stomach. “Chris?” Her nose comes to rest on the side of his, their faces barely a hair apart. She doesn't know what is meant to follow- _lie_ \- yes she does, but she can't dredge that up just yet. It's on the tip of her tongue like a coal, burning to escape every time she swallows, it makes her chest roll sickly like hot lead. “Christopher, I-” 

He blinks up at her, his gaze softened by her wide eyes, as green as the park with sparks of golden summer. It's impossible to move now. Alerts drum that the intimacy hasn't been verified. But there must be an override, a good cause to surge forward and close this painful gap. 

Chris' arms soften on her waist, testing, seeing if the human curved against his lap will escape. If he's keeping her there beyond her want. He's surprised when she presses herself back up to him, pulling him forward with her arms idly over his shoulders. Consent. Christopher's inhibitors run silent and he has to hold his breath. 

Their lips brush and all it takes is a nudge. 

Samuels freezes until she kisses back. They move slowly, gently; Ripley is teaching and easy to keep up with. When to push, when to let her breathe, and eventually, when to bite. The motions ripple in her whole body, her waist rolling under his hands, the gentle tug of hair tangled between her fingers. A soft breathy moan escapes Samuels and Amanda falls against him a little further. 

The synthetic's pupils are wide as they pull away from one long, final kiss, breathing each other in. Amanda doesn't know for the life of her how it's possible, but she knows she's looking at him with the very same wide enamoured eyes. 

“I love you.” The declaration is simple, but Amanda has never been so sure about anything in her life.

Samuels' holds the side of her face, she'd never seen a smile like his before. Not like this. It makes her stomach fall and the magma in her chest boil. She couldn't ruin this absolute perfection with another kiss could she? Decidedly, yes. 

At some point Ripley is levered up over his hips as they decide to relocate to the couch, Chris gently laying them down. 

It's a surprise when the sun sets under the western window shade as they pull up closer to each other. Jackets discarded and wandering hands sneaking into loose shirts. They kiss, tangled up in each other as the dark swallows them, ebbing Ripley to sleep. Chris lets her nap the evening off, his hand gentle on the back of her head. This a good place as any to stay with his love.


	14. No One Left Behind (Alive)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: ambiguous suicide mention, description of trauma.

Maybe it was the red wine she had with dinner, or maybe it was dinner itself, but Amanda is dreaming lucidly for the first time in a while. 

She is at peace, even within the whirlwind of events, a singular steady object, undisturbed. Having the responsibility, the free will to make that decision, with no one there to literally force her hand. 

Marlow, that asshole. He'd been right. 

Amanda takes hold of the last lever, sweat cling to her face behind the suit's visor. She yanks it down so hard it jars her wrists, and she cradles them against the padding of her chest. The orbital stabiliser retaliates against the damnatory command with a wail and a tear of metal so loud she feels her brain rattle in her helmet. The whole station tilts and she jerks to the floor, latched only by magnetic boots.

The other survivors would be huddled in corners, locked in cupboards, unknowing what is about to become of their lives. They would be scared, but only for a moment as the station rattles itself apart. And then- peace. 

It was the closest thing to anaesthesia Ripley could gift them. 

Her suit is growing hotter, beginning to roast its human innards as the great orange maw of storm clouds threatens to swallow her before the atmosphere does. _It'll be quick._ She reminds herself that this had been reasoned with, and even if she has grappled to endure thus far, it's not irrational. It's easier this way. A second longer and the visor flashes white, her reflection dauntless before her, wide eyes, sweat and tears pouring. A smear of blood. 

No one would know about the decision Amanda had to make. No one but her. 

Someone is shaking her out of the same nightmares, body still sick and bruised.

Ripley survived the flurry of a space suit, the hatch sucking her and the creature into the vacuum, debris batting them apart as she jettisoned away from the burning planet. Away from mass murder. A synthetic tends to her until she is strong enough for hypersleep, helping her recover from oxygen deprivation. Through the vomiting, and dizziness, she recounts her story to him as they begin their journey back to earth. Their salvage mission cut short, the crew wake to negotiate with The Company, happy to escort this impossible woman home; for a fee. She made them rich; the bodies of hundreds made them rich. 

The android was the only comfort on this ship, and from what she can gather amongst the blur, he looks like her _friend_. Amanda decides she likes him before realizing she never even learned his name, and now he's gone too. 

Ripley is crying. Tears stream down her cheeks, her hair is wet with something and sticking to her cheeks, a gelatinous material clings to her face. Blood. Her own and synthetic, laced with carbon and sweat and grease. Thick, salty, metallic, it strikes the back of her tongue and forces her airway to whimper closed. 

“Amanda!” 

She's being shaken again, back on the station as it rips itself apart, losing components in the atmosphere like a dandelion. It racks sobs from her, muffled, snuffed by the hot air and squeal of shredding metal. This was the end of all survivors on the station, this is what they had to see. What she had put them through. 

“Amanda, please!” The voice is familiar, it lives here in her dreams. Because this has to be, right? This isn't how it happened, this isn't how she dies. 

With screeches and screams she can hear sections torn away, holding her head down with her hands she squeezes as Savastopol jolts violently, one tower at a time is claimed by the giant storm. It doesn't take a genius to calculate, she only has seconds. 

Ripley opens her eyes and they sear in the shimmering hot air, she's suffocating, hiding from oblivious Joes in the foot-well of a locker. The station splits with an almighty crack and the air is ripped from her lungs. 

Then, silence.

No breathing. No heartbeat. The voice she loves in gone. Someone had sacrificed them all. This way, she supposes, it's better. She gets it, prefers it even. No one can be allowed to escape. 

This. This is when she dies. 

And it wasn't so bad after all. 

The universe is white and gold and her skin burns under the nearby glow. Amanda looks up, adjusting to this new state of being, floating in liquid silk. _He's_ looking down at her. Dead and towering, surrounded by a white halo. How could Samuels be waiting here? This place isn't for him. It isn't even for her.

Hands that belong to the face hold Ripley by the shoulders, squeezing tightly. She feels beaten, shaken, but not where his hands had been. It's everywhere, soaking outward from her marrow, her muscle absorbing up the deep ache of cold fists, bullets, and fire. Her ears still ping against the screech of steel, mixing with that creature's slavering roar. 

“Chris-” Amanda hiccups. 

She's not, is she? _Dead._ She's the only survivor, shouldering that body count, the crushing weight of their fear makes her sick. 

Samuels strokes the sides of her face, he's kneeling on the bed, his eyes terrified and very much alive. 

“God, Amanda. Please breathe.” His voice is calm, but it's a lie. 

She gasps inwards, it hurts and makes her lean over the side to choke. Ripley wobbles dangerously, trying to push Christopher away. She's trapped in the sheets, and in the silver-hot tangling air of the room. 

“I have to get out of here, I have to get the fuck out-” pushing from Samuels' grasp she makes a determined line for the shower, holding the wall for support as her head bursts painfully. She swivels the lever and tears it back from the wall to rain icy water over her feverish skin and into her clothes. She collapses to her knees, falling sideways into the wall, shaking. 

Christopher watches from the door. He knows this is his fault. And though she would obstinately deny it ever being a factor in the cause, his actions the other day had re-opened scars they both thought were nearly healed. 

“Could I come in?” Christopher speaks softly. He shouldn't have to ask, if he were human he would be able to help unhindered, but _she's fine_ rings his inhibitors. There's no valid reason to invade her privacy. _She's not dying; not in trouble. She doesn't need assistance, and doesn't need you._ He squeezes his eyes shut, it doesn't matter. He has to be there. “Amanda, I can't move. I can't help while you're in there until you tell me I can.” 

“Please-” 

Samuels steps into the shower before she'd even thought as far as a second word. It could have been 'leave' or 'stay', it doesn't matter, it was enough to override him. 

He crouches at her side as she falls face first into his chest. Howling. She cries so hard Samuels wonders if it's possible to recover from this kind of sorrow. He wants to call someone, a doctor or a therapist, someone who can help. Not him; he's not good enough. If he was she wouldn't have to continuously survive these episodes any more. He pulls her shoulders in and sits down, watching as she curls up between his legs, smaller than he remembers her being. 

“I'm so, so sorry.” 

“No. It's not you. I just- I shouldn't be here, I fought so fucking hard to survive. For nothing, to be the one who has to live with it all. What's the point, if- if I'm the one who has to remember everything.”

Christopher feels water trickle down his cheeks. It isn't until he realises he's sitting outside the halo of the shower, that the agony, confusion, and frustration in his mind had possibly glitched him into crying. Or they were stray droplets. It doesn't matter. 

“If I have this- this in my head forever, it has to be harder than just dying.” Amanda clutches her chest, suffocation rips the sides of her throat with every word. "It has to be."

“No.” Samuels says with more authority than he knew he had in him. It makes her look up. “Do not ever think anything would be harder than you dying.” 

“You can't say- God, I don't fucking know anymore.” 

“Ripley, I would have been willing to decommission on my return if I found out you'd perished on that station. Trust me when I say I'd not live to be the one to survive without you.”

“I didn't mean anything to anyone though, not back then.” Amanda sobs, wriggling under one of his arms with her back against the glass, shaking, the cold water falling directly into her lap. Samuels reaches up and twists the handle warmer and she relaxes against him, counting herself into steady breaths.

“You meant more to me far longer than you know.”

On Savastopol he'd watched her go more than once. He wished he could tell her not to, or at least not alone. _Unable to allow a human to come to harm._ That's what his programs said, what he'd convinced himself. But she was strong and brave and competent, all before the fact he simply was incapable of giving her orders. 

So she'd left to venture into the path of danger, and he'd returned to treat Taylor, his programming confirmed her a priority. His duty was to her; Amanda and the rest of the survivors- secondary. 

It wasn't long before he'd heard it. Her voice on comms. 

_“It's gone to hell in here, Samuels.”_ She was scared, and it made his body do this strange- thing. 

It was involuntary, and he would've preferred it didn't, it made his hands shake and his neck twitch. His whole body felt wrong, broken. _It hurt._

But he couldn't reply. What if she's hiding? What if his voice alerts the Predator to her location? What if-?

_Christopher Samuels was wondering._

The shadow of a creature he had no memory of, had never seen before, never recorded, was suddenly so vivid as he considered it could be stalking her. Attacking the woman he dragged into this mess. Why? How? He could never create, invent, imagine. But this was clear as data, the thought of Amanda in danger, all the possible threats, every firewall of her safety compromised. His skin itched as his programming had to pin him to Taylor's side. 

“Samuels, are you okay?” 

His eyes open like a door to reality, and he steps through. Waking for him isn't a groggy surfacing from the depths of sleep, as much as an immediate change of state. He blinks, understanding it had only been a few minutes, but he'd drifted off- or perhaps crashed from the stress- with her calm now and the warm water over them both. “Of course.”

“What did you mean?” Amanda asks, she'd nestled back into him. “Just then you said, it was longer than I knew.” 

He doesn't reply immediately, it's hard to consider, let alone admit how faulty the idea of a synthetic imagining is. 

“Do you remember when we first met?” 

He knows Amanda is smiling, it's a tiny effort, but of considerable worth. 

“I was an asshole.” Her smile fades. “I never apologized for that.” 

“No, that's quite fine.” He leans back to look down at her, and she looks up to catch his gaze. “Do you remember you offered me coffee? Frankly, you were confronting to talk to, I would've thought you intimidating if I didn't know any better- but you never talked down to me authoritatively.” Samuels thinks for a moment, dragging memories up from his archives. They're still whole and void of corruption which is the most important thing. 

_“You're up early.”_

_“If he can talk to Apollo.”_

_“You're **dying.** ”_

“You always referred to me as a human being, and in a selfish way I suppose that's why I love you. You're kind, Ripley. And perhaps the most empathetic person I've ever met in my very few years.” 

Amanda Ripley sits up straight. She'd stopped crying but was on the verge of starting again. “Why are you saying this?” 

“I would just like you to know that ever since I met you, you've been so important to me. Not always in this way, but you held a significant place with me because of the way you made me feel. The fact you made me feel at all. And now it's even more so. I don't want you to doubt that for any reason.” Samuels' breath becomes difficult, which isn't an immediate problem, he can mostly survive without flowing air. Coolant will do the same job at radiating heat and regulating his core. But this failure, it's undoubtedly frightening, and with it comes the sensation he's about to black out- to crash again. “One day, I'm going to lose you. To outlive you. And I don't know what I'll do when that day comes.”

Ripley pulls him into her chest, she swaddles him against her wet pyjamas. Feeling the burn of his skin, even under the lukewarm water. He's overheating. Upset. 

“We have so much time together, Samuels. Who knows what's going to happen. One day I might have to live without you too. And that scares the fuck out of me.” Chris continues to hold her so firmly Ripley is considering telling him it's a touch off painful, but she might be squeezing him back just as hard. 

He doesn't reply, doesn't even move. Samuels is convinced, statistically, and in his own experience, he will be the one to outlive his love. And it's too early to tell what he'll do when that day comes. 

Amanda, with absolute certainty, does know what she will do if Samuels ever dies. She'll not be living without him for very long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I promise that will be the last of the sad stuff for a while. I was thinking too hard a while back about Amanda, and how I see her as an empathetic being who would have spent a whole lot of her time alone racking herself over the people who she sent to death. It breaks my heart how many people died and Rip probably blames herself for them all ;A; 
> 
> Ah the suicide mention, it's only there just in case. When I originally wrote this chapter, her reference to knowing exactly what she'd do if Chris ever died was supposed to imply her fixing him by any means necessary (including installing him into a drone ohoho), but it got more raw every time I edited it and you can take it as you will. The warning is there in case anyone wants to avoid it completely, they can. 
> 
> Also it's only three weeks until I'm hiking in the Himalayas with no access to internet, I'll try and get some chapters up and dump two or three on y'all at once to make up for it. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and all your support in this hellish time. Ilu all <3


	15. All the Time in the World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quickest canoodle in the world.

Amanda had taken a few days to recover, and Samuels was more than comfortable sitting in companionable silence. Her voice and conversation had been sorely missed, but the nights they spent together, her laying over him, falling asleep to soft kisses; Chris keeping his radiator output to max, skin soothing and cold to her touch. That, in a way, was communication itself. 

It's not as if she was walking around feeling sorry for herself either. Amanda had found self motivation in daily tasks, running- weather permitting, and looking for things to stir the engineering part of her brain. All this trying, and Christopher knew he was still very much needed. In the glassy eyed slump as she drank her five or six coffees a day was a clear indicator that she still had a while before she came back around. 

It's a nice surprise when Samuels wanders out to the living room to see Amanda in the kitchen, her head bobbing to the radio at odds with the concentration set in her face; he takes a rather extrinsic breath of relief. She seems oblivious to him in the doorway through the squint and the fingers buried into her temple, focus solely directed into the insides of the broken toaster. Which, Samuels knows, is very much a code red as far as emergency distraction goes. Still, she's coping. 

Amanda regards the mess of wires and presses her knuckles into her brow. The wound on her head is finally getting better, however fooled she may be by this migraine playing squash with her frontal lobe. Turns out “fixing the damn toaster” would be a matter of definition at this point. It'll toast alright; but not without burning all the bread, along with the entire block, to ashes. 

“Maybe these will help.” Samuels places a pair of glasses down in front of his partner. 

Amanda hadn't seen her specs in months, and how the hell did Chris know where to find them? “I thought I lost these ages ago.”

“That's far more reassuring than you know. They were in your medicine cabinet. I also found these.” He places two paracetamol tablets on the counter and fetches a mug of water. “How's your headache?” 

“It's kicking my ass, if I'm honest.” She purses her lips to contain the baffled grin. “And how did you know that from all the way over there?” 

“Because I know _you_.” Chris smiles gently, leaning over the counter to inspect the machine's innards carefully.

“Thank you.” She shoots the tablets back and winces. “Doubt I'd even need these things if it weren't for our patient here.” 

“Why not get another?” 

Amanda places the soldering tool on it's hook and blows the newest join gently. “I need this, not like I actually care if it works or not in the end. I just wish I had more to do. Things like this to keep my hands busy. In the end, we'll either get a working toaster out of it, or it gets dismantled until there's nothing left to detach.” 

“It's all quite fascinating in there.” Samuels looks up. “Sorry, I shouldn't interrupt you while you're trying to work.” 

Amanda shakes her head. “It's fine, uh, it's not really impressive at all, just takes training. You could probably learn all this in an hour.”

“It's a skill beyond the likes of me, of that I'm sure. It may as well be surgery.” Samuels eyes widen ever so slightly. “In fact-”

Amanda points a finger gun in his direction, smiling, but not really. “If you're about to say because you're a machine.” She trails of threateningly. _They'd been over this._

“No. Would that not be like comparing surgeon's work to veterinarian's purely on the grounds that they are both operating on flesh?” Samuels squeezes his hands nervously. He's surprised with himself, if something like that had been said around his superiors he'd face the risk of sentenced decommission. 

“Point.” Amanda concurs with a wave of her hand. 

“I'm trying to say, you never cease to amaze me. It's just _brilliant_.” 

Ripley cocks an eyebrow. Obviously not, because she can't even refit an appliance beyond making it more of a hazard. Which, had she realized these made functional igniters, she wouldn't have had to raid so many lockers in a pinch. 

“And if you are about to say 'not really'... We have talked about this.” 

Samuels' eyes practically glitter and Amanda has to clear her throat, she rubs her head again, and Samuels nudges the glasses a little closer, unbeknownst to the fact she was only trying to hide the roses in her cheeks. She regards them for a moment before turning them around on him, sliding them over his ears. He blinks a few times and even goes quite adorably cross eyed. 

“Really? No, 'how blind are you anyway'?” Amanda laughs, “got nothing for me?” 

“My retinas adjust to obstructions.” Christopher's voice lacks pride, it's a matter of fact. “I can see just fine. But your prescription is out of date.” 

Ripley would have asked how on earth he could possibly have known that if she wasn't too busy admiring the synthetic with glasses on. She'd never seen it before, and makes a personal note to buy Samuels a good pair of sunnies one day. He looks so young. Obviously not so far as the creation of his model, that would only be a matter of fifteen years or so- and of course her lover wasn't first off the ranks, he'd be a lot younger again- that makes Amanda feel queasy. But right now, in this light, and through those lenses, he looks about twenty.

Samuels pushes them up and wriggles his nose, inspecting his reflection in the oven. The frames are a little thin for him, but he's undeniably human.

There's no debating such. Just as she was grown from human flesh, he was fashioned and 3D printed by his own programming, helped along by machines. Out there, a mother, an instrument who can claim to his creation. Would Christopher be sentimental for it? He is, after all, capable of the very same reproductive technology which could have well been a gift from it. From her. To develop artificial fibres and repair his body and grow his hair. From the trail on his stomach, fine and blonde and stops a few inches above his belt, to the neat chestnut tufts atop his head. Real growing- printing- cuticles. The ability to restore, grow, heal, and yet aging escapes him. 

Ripley wonders what her friend, her partner, would have looked like as a boy. A teenager, and a young man. She wonders who's visage he'd been modeled off and if they are still alive, if she would see him one day elderly. Were any of his mannerisms or traits adopted into Samuels, and did they share a name? Would she have even liked the other, the original, in her eyes the impostor? 

Christopher had been modelled in his late thirties, ten years or so older than her. Leaving enough time together before she begins drifting away from his age group, and though she isn't sure if it would phase him, it bothers Amanda greatly. The gap between them closes every second, and here she is, wasting her time away, quiet, fucked up, distracting herself on a toaster. 

“Samuels, you know I'm dying. Right?” 

Chris gets up so fast he just about tangles himself in the legs of the chair.

“Jeez, not right now! It's going to happen though, that's all. I'm going to get old, it's guaranteed. You know what that means.” Amanda leans over on the bench. “Even if we do everything right, even after we escaped hell. I'm going to be a burden one day, and then I'm going to die.”

Samuels regains a little bit of dignity by straightening, seating himself again and placing his hands in his lap. “God, Amanda.”

“It's true! I'm not like you, able to switch between bodies.” She's half expecting a _'to an extent, Amanda'_ but it never comes. 

“Somehow, you find it in your heart to love me, even with the knowledge of what I am made of. Do you feel like I am an encumbrance?” 

Honestly, what did she do to deserve him?

“That's not what I'm talking about. I'll be old and maybe even sick, and I don't want you to look after me. Just leave and find someone else. You're eternal and so full of life and love. You deserve to find that over and over again from people who can keep up with you.” Amanda says over her clenched fists. “Don't stick around and wait to see what happens to me, please.”

Samuels shakes his head, his face blank as a canvas. “You'll have to do better than that.”

“What?” 

“If you're trying to cast me away on some falsehood that one day I may be disappointed in you, in the choices made with the freedom you gave me. Know, I have made my decision, and that decision is you.” Christopher walks around to her side of the island bench, selfishly not giving Amanda the opportunity to protest as he lifts her up by the waist and places her onto on the counter. He's actually quite shocked he can execute actions like so, but they had been far closer than hands on her waist of recent. 

She holds the side of his face, stroking his cheekbones under her glasses. “Christopher, I'm made to be alone and that's fine, you're-”

“Not any more. I am made for you.”

“You don't get it. When I die, I lose you too, and you're all I have. I always end up alone. No matter what waits for me after, maybe nothing, whatever, you're not going to be there.” She's basically shaking him by the collar of his shirt, her voice brittle with anger and frustration. “I can't lose you, Chris. Not again. Not like that.” 

“Amanda.” Samuels holds her hands still, bringing them to his lips. She seems quelled immediately. “We are safe. You and I are, together. And we have so many years ahead of ourselves to work out what we will do when the time comes. I'm not fooled; I'm in love with you. Despite my build, despite our differences.”

Ripley knocks her forehead to his and sighs in frustration. “There's nothing I can say to convince you to find better, is there?”

Chris shakes his head. “When such a time comes that you are certain, and you can look at me and feel nothing. I'll leave you be. Until then, I do have an idea, should you be open to it.” 

“And that is?” 

“We learn how to bake, or rather, I do.” 

Amanda laughs incredulously. “What the actual-”

“A peace offering to Daniels. I doubt she will want to see me, but I need to beg forgiveness on behalf of my actions somehow. Walter and I, we are fine. I believe we have an understanding. But talking to Daniels, it may be good for you. And good for us. Perhaps they are willing to share their secrets, they have been together for a very long time.”

“How do you know?” 

Christopher's eyes are sturdy, determined and confident. “Do you trust me?” 

“You know I do.”

“Then we must learn how to bake.” 

Ripley laughs and knocks her head to Samuels' again. “Christopher?”

“Yes?”

“I know how to bake.”

His eyes crinkle up as he strokes her hands. “Then we already have everything under control.” 

“Oh, and Christopher?”

Samuels looks up and his neck is bent back, angled by the jaw as he's caught at the lips. Amanda feels too strong to be left weak by it, and the synthetic doesn't miss that it should be the other way around. But his back wants to arch him up against her, arms forming like iron encircling her waist, like her thighs are a cage around him. Ripley's skin fizzes as Chris breaks away to wander kisses down her shoulder, partially convinced she might just dissolve into this heat. 

“I love you.” 

Christopher beams up at the rather pink human, holding her wrists behind his head and tapping her heel on the cupboard door. She looks a little out of place, her hard exterior shedding words like those. It makes it sweeter that Samuels knows he'd been in the exact same position not too long ago. All clumsy proclamations with awkward delivery. 

“I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello jungle friends, sorry for the depressing ass last chapter. Here, have some cuties validating each other and canoodling. 
> 
> This is chapter 15... Chapter FiFtEEn??? I don't even know how I got here. Does anyone else feel woozy? Honestly, who knows when this is going to end, there are limitless chapters on my phone, and am currently just winging it big time in a very questionable order. It might come to a conclusion when it feels right, or just as abruptly as my hopes and dreams of cannon Ripuels <.<
> 
> Anyways, I hope y'all enjoy until the day of reckoning lmao. Love you all sm <3


	16. Something About Synthetics

Walter is standing in the centre of the kitchen considering the obstacle squatted before him. There is no chance he could lift the old, arrogant machine himself- even out to the sidewalk to be collected and recycled- without fear he'd lose balance and tear ligaments. Maybe once upon a time he could have managed the awkwardly long, and frankly lopsided contraption alone, but not now. Not with the crystallizing elastic in his muscle and deteriorated silicone on his joints. The one hand he has left be damned. 

Walter is old. Fact. But his programming has held up better than his body, so he's clever enough to not attempt it. 

“Don't let it bug you.” 

Daniels is standing in the open saloon door, a layer of sweat on her brow and shoulders. Her tank top is drenched in a line down her chest and spine, and it looks, despite the cold, like she'd walked a mile in one of the old deserts. 

“It's not possible to bug me.”

"That's not true." Delightfully clammy arms wrap around his waist, her hot cheek plants firmly into his broad back. He doesn't seem to mind, being covered in a thin layer of potting soil himself- they'd have a shower soon anyway- and he's cold. Conserving energy. Walter had been considering it after all. “Don't think about it, it's easy.”

“I could dismantle it, take it out one part at a time.” He cocks his head. “A few of the parts could go to good use elsewhere, like the boiler. The extra space would be useful.” 

“That'd be a shame, it's probably older than the both of us combined.” 

“Twenty-zero-seven.” He's never inspected the manual, he just knows. “It's been refurbished exactly twelve times already.” 

“One day it'll be on it's thirteenth life, just leave it.” Daniels squeezes a little tighter, a hand comes down to rest on her forearms. 

“Daniels.” 

“Mm-hm?”

“There's someone at the door.” 

She's taken aback. It's not as if he is her butler, obviously, they'd shared their lives together for decades and, though it took about twenty years of convincing, they are equals. So it's decidedly odd that now, when the android is just as self serving as any human, he wouldn't just answer it without hesitation. 

“And?”

Walter turns, assesses Daniels' frown apologetically. “And it may be best that you get it.” 

-

Amanda is standing at the door, she wants to rock up onto her toes in anticipation of the unleashing wrath as Daniels pulls it open. She's not one for long drawn out apologies, nor is she big on heartfelt speeches, her partner's way with words and exception. But in her book, if you're going to do something, at least do it with dignity. Holding an offensively yellow checkered dish of brownies. 

Daniels doesn't stand aside welcomingly, as can be expected, but she doesn't hurl abuse and slam the door again. She squares herself, posture suddenly quite wall-like, and as she straightens, Amanda remembers just how tall the other woman is. She, herself isn't slight, but Daniels, with her long back and slim stature, towers over her. Or seems to at this point. 

“Ripley,” her voice doesn't hold a grudge, “what are you doing here?”

Amanda feels a bit of a fool, silently cursing Samuels for talking her into this. Not all so guilty about leaving him the floury mess as she was nearly pushed out the door, insisting _"it's fine, Love, just go"_ , and hitting the stairwell after a quick kiss for luck. 

“I feel awful for what happened, before, after I took Walter down. And then with Chris picking fights, he feels terrible too.” 

Daniels is steadfast, she doesn't reply, just lifts an eyebrow in consideration of the container outstretched before her. 

“Brownies, it's my mother's recipe. I haven't baked in a while, hopefully they're okay.” 

“I've never had them before.” A half truth, Daniels is unsure if the baked goods Walter had made did count. They weren't mother's recipe, that's for certain. But they were very good. 

Daniels stands for a few seconds too long, she doesn't take the container offered to her, instead quickly tucks herself behind the door, gesturing with a nod for the woman to come in. “We're letting the heat out.” 

Amanda had just wanted to test the water, hand over the gift with a smile and a wave, but for some god forsaken reason she couldn't come up with a good excuse not to. And it wasn't as if Daniels gave an indication there is another option anyway. 

The deadbolt click is unnerving already, and she hunkers down a little as Walter approaches. She can appreciate his stature is broader set than Samuels now, with time to asses the synthetic, it's a little more intimidating. His arms are tensely out to his side as he walks in calculated strides, more 'droid than human, but only enough to be apparent comparatively to one another. The second thing she notices, is she is vastly smaller than everyone here, and the bloodshot creases over Daniels' hands indicates she'd just been boxing. As if she wasn't on edge enough. 

“Hello, Amanda.” Walter's voice lacks tone, he looks at her with the same eyes as Samuels. Blue, not brown. But the gaze that makes her feel like her genetic code is being analysed. “How are you feeling? Any dizziness, headaches, nausea?”

“It's fine, I almost don't notice it any more." He already knows, but the question is appreciated. "How are you?”

Walter doesn't seem put off by her concern like she imagined an older model to be, but he'd obviously spent a lot of time around kind humans, or a single human, for a very long time. “I'm alright, thank you. There was no damage from the fall, or the fight with Samuels. He is alright now too?”

No. That was the simple answer. And she's still a little bitter with the fact Christopher had been internally processing things so wrong, that he was coping with his own trauma and she never caught on to the fact. 

“He's great too. Just didn't come today in case you wanted to duke out again.” 

Daniels' laugh isn't with humour, but disbelief. “So he let you come alone? After what happened last time?”

“We don't 'let' each other do anything.” Amanda has her serious face on before she remembers that's not how you make friends. “Still, yeah. And not that I can't take care of myself; but he'd probably hear me call for help from here anyway.” 

Walter doubts it, but finds her faith in her synthetic companion soothing his unease. Dani's too, she looks at Ripley like she just passed a test. 

Visibly relaxing, the taller woman accepts the gift, their guest letting out an unintentionally long breath. 

“Thanks. You didn't have to do this, by the way. You could've come over whenever, I'm surprised we haven't heard from you sooner. Last time was messed up, but we move on.” Dani places the brownies on the counter, lid open for anyone to help themselves. 

Amanda already had two at home, not that anyone else had to be let in on that little fact. She raises her hand, no. 

“So why are you here really?”

As Amanda thinks, Walter sees his opportunity to leave, taking up some shears and meticulously pruning a planter of herbs on the windowsill. Not so far away he isn't a part of the conversation, but his relaxed nature becomes a quite satiating background noise. 

“I'm here to apologize, but you're also the only neighbours we've had anything to do with. Or I've ever really met in the whole two years I've been up in that apartment.” Ripley pauses before succumbing to the temptation of another brownie. In Daniels' eyes it would be the first, and Christopher is always reminding her she can't survive off sunlight, oxygen, and the latest engineering textbooks. “And it's not every day a couple so similar to us comes along.” 

“So you and Samuels, you are a couple after all?”

Walter shared a knowing look with Daniels. He'd been right. 

“I suppose now we are.” More official than ever; the last few days spent absolutely tangled up in each other is a hard fact to debate. Even if she wanted to. Ripley bites the inside of her bottom lip. “How long have you and Walter-?”

Walter's pruning stutters, a few leaves of basil falling into the sink. 

“A long time.” Daniels says fondly, but also rather finally. Amanda doesn't push it. “These are amazing by the way.” 

The other woman doesn't offer a brownie to Walter, and he doesn't ask. Figures they're probably beyond that. And knowing he would decline, the freedom he has to take one if he chooses means a lot more than asking. Amanda could really learn a thing of two from them both. 

“Right?” She beams. “Chris helped out a lot, he'll be glad to hear it too.” 

“Thanks for dropping them off, and coming all this way to just apologize. You didn't have to at all, we were just as much to blame but we had no idea where to find you. Sorry anyway, and know you're welcome around whenever.” Daniels shrugs, and Amanda's glance at the coffee machine doesn't go unnoticed. "Besides, that old thing isn't going to fix itself.” 

“What?”

“I figured you wouldn't be down here in the first place unless you were bored out of your mind.” Daniels isn't wrong. “The offer still stands. I'm happy to pay you, in money and food for your time. Walter is good at cooking, and by good I mean he follows the recipe better than I do.”

The synthetic smiles nearby, the smell of basil wafting from the kitchen as he leaves to fossick for tomatoes outside. 

“Just- don't be strangers, okay? That's all I'm saying.”

“No, that sounds great. I've been dying to go back to work of any sort for so long. Thanks, Daniels.”

“Dani, Dani is still fine.” She softly folds her arms, the defensive edge of her shoulders is replaced by a gentle shrug. “Bring Samuels too, it might be good for them.” 

Amanda follows Dani over to the coffee machine. Unknowingly, both wondering just how Chris and Walter would communicate with words instead of their untrustworthy staring, and if conversation between someone of similar build would be beneficial. What a synthetic to synthetic apology would look like; or if would they would even require one?

The sun is high by the time Amanda is ready to leave. After she has a list of parts to acquire, an armful of basil and fresh garden produce Dani had all but pushed upon her- because how on earth am I supposed to get through all this, damn Walter's green thumb-, and they'd spent an hour rattling off electrical terms Walter had found himself lost in. She'll admit, she's quite adoring of the terraforming specialist, guiding and explaining in great detail the changes and alterations, their grand dreams for this place; and her synthetic partner, apron on, cooking from memory what smells like something her mother used to call Italian. She's coming to terms with the fact there may just be something about androids and mechanics. 

She bids them goodbye, stepping onto the pavement. One direction being home, the other the diner. She begins in the direction of the city. 

It's turning out to be a nice day, she thinks she'll surprise Christopher with a drink, and the good news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This, unfortunately, has to be the last chapter for two weeks. I tried to get another one up in time to make up for the Monday I'll miss, but I'm running myself down with it a little. Please forgive me... I don't trust my editing with so little sleep. 
> 
> On another adults-only note, I'm thinking about posting smut. Yes, smut. Only if anyone is actually into reading that nonsense. It'll be in a different work so it's easily avoided by maybe all but one human being, you know who you are /western music/. But maybe when I'm back from Nepal. 
> 
> In the meantime, I hope you all stay safe while I'm off on my travels. Much love, and see you in two weeks <3


	17. Engineering Spark

Amanda squeezes her arms and sits down at her study desk; the corner of Samuels' room where it's a little too dark, the lamps a little too bright. A dual boiler system, removed from any resemblance of such is like shrapnel across the bench. 

It had been an issue of gigantic proportions most of the day. What should have been a walk in the park, after mental dormancy, two years later had become a series of drawing blanks and frustrated internet enquiries. 

_What is... What are... What does...?_

She lightly smacks her forehead to her desk and rests on her forearm. Her neck is tired, crooked from her old office chair, and rolls her temple into a stack of paperwork. She massages downwards into her loose hair, attempting to crush the army of minuscule hitches and the whispers of everything forgotten. Suddenly pausing to wonder where the paperwork had even come from. 

“Have a rest.” Christopher coos softly, sitting on the edge of his bed with an enviously straight back and hands folded neatly. 

“What are you doing here?”

The response shakes neither one of them. Samuels cracks the slightest of smiles, humbled by her question. 

“You know I'm not. I'm dead. Destroyed. Debris in space; or ash in the storms of KG-348. Gone, however it's put, is still gone.” 

The ambiance of the room darkens significantly with each word; the curtains drawn for the first time in a long time. They both share this room because it faces nothing important, with no risk of anyone seeing in. And since sleeping with another body, it had become routine- routine is healthy- to wake up with each other, and the sun. Which kindly, in Amanda's case anyway, granted them quite the sleep in this time of year. 

Cottage blue sheets, the one's she specifically brought fresh for him, had become motley grey. The woollen throw on the end of the bed now a pile of legal documents. Statements. Crinkled under a synthetic's green uniform clad bottom. 

Amanda can't bring herself to care. Could've sworn herself finished with all the incident reports and logs Weyland-Yutani Legal had requested. 

“You're not gone. Not any more. You came back, two years later.” The past and present hurts her head, makes her feel uncertainly. 

The synthetic doesn't respond. Baggage at it's finest. 

“Fine, I'll humour the idea of insanity. What do you want?”

“You're not insane, you're coping. Alone.” Just the way she prefers it. Less people to drag into messes. Christopher Samuels obviously disagrees. “You need occupation, entertainment, these rooms you coup yourself up in will kill you. After running, fighting, hiding, here you are, dormant, and waiting so eagerly for it to just stop.”

“I'm not waiting for anything.”

“But you're not trying very hard either.” 

The voice of Samuels is as rich as ever, a little more casual, a little more lifelike. The tonal constraints of his factual programming have made room for a more laid back approach. But what could be expected of a human brain trying to recreate him in approximated mannerisms, in words he never even used around her, expressions and gestures he mightn't have been capable of. He reclines onto the bed, lower back crinkling another pile of paper. This time it's a calendar of mandatory appointments. Only a generous handful of which are reported in. 

Amanda squares her shoulders. What she's doing is not anyone's business but her own. 

“Correct, this is your business, Ripley. And you're making it mine.”

“What do you want this time, Christopher? How are you still here?”

Through the medication and the therapy. All supposed to keep things like him far, far away. _Things like him. Things._

_You know what I mean._

“Hallucinations? Effects of post traumatic stress and poor self care? Call it what you will. Your stubbornness fights the grasp of self destruction hardly as well as it fuels it. Your very own will to live, as delusional as it may make you, became me. Frank refusal to listen to anything not in this image.”

“Pleasure, as always. Doesn't answer why you're here right now. Specifically.”

Christopher Samuels smiles like she'd never seen, only ever imagined, and wished she'd seen a thousand times before he was gone. Filled with all the kindness and empathy of the synthetic- of the man who came to fetch her at work. Who used his rank for her personal errands without prior proposition and no incentive. And to help the obviously troubled, antisocial engineer, move on. 

“There was a disturbance in the force.”

“Oh, that's such bullshit. There's no way you've seen A New Hope.”

“I've seen everything you have. I'm not really here, Amanda.” The humanly flirtatious glint in Christopher's eye confirms it. “You know that.” 

Of course she does. 

“When was the last time you ate?”

Amanda thinks to her fridge. In it is food, good food that'll probably turn any day now. She's not a bad cook, but as far as motivation is concerned, the fridge may as well have been parked on Venus.

“You haven't eaten in how many days? You've had a single glass of water in three. Enough caffeine to disappoint your sphygmomanometer-" how Amanda knows that word is beyond her, but it does sound Samuels-esque. "And it should be impossible to disappoint machines, yet here we are. But to top it all off, you're well within your-” he lifts his wrist, inspecting the watch he never had and never needed, if only for dramatic flair. “Forty-ninth hour of no rest. How long do you think you can keep this up?”

“I'm managing just fine. Don't lecture me, Medical Officer." She barely laughs, "you're not my mother, just the voice in my head.” 

“Yes, because you're sick of your own. You know it could be her instead of myself. But you're telling this story, and you chose me, so I'm here to serve as well as your imagination allows.”

Amanda can think of no one less comforting, someone that'll make her feel less sane than the image of her mother. At least with a synthetic it's advice, an unattached voice of reason. Asking herself what counselling could the perfect being give, rather than _what would my mother, tragically, traumatisingly absent, the woman I invested too many thoughts to, do?_

It's easier to imagine someone who lacks that kind of ghost.

But how can he still be here?

Of course Samuels makes the eye-roll look elegant, he's leaning now on his palm, exhausted by her efforts like she's not doing enough, not even trying to look as if she's doing so.

“Let me help you.” Samuels dips his head. Some synthetic charm returning. “Get some rest, I'll have breakfast waiting for you in the morning. You can tick both food and sleep off the list, and then I'll go.”

Ripley's heart sinks, though does a good job to not show it. “Until the next time you think I'm in need of another opinion.”

“Until you realise again, however subconsciously, that the road you're on only has one stop, Amanda. But you want to be here. Otherwise I wouldn't be here.” 

The smell of hotcakes wafts through the study, through Samuels' room. But it's not his right now, is it? It's the study. The dark room where schematics of noisemakers and EMP bombs pin to the plasterboard. Blueprints that had been folded up into her WY garb and stashed to the back of the linen cupboard. Just to make sure; just in case. 

“I'll call you when breakfast is ready, shall I?”

“Sure.” Amanda smirks, leans back in the creaky old chair in need of WD-40. “I'd like to see that, just try to pick up anything, let alone cook. Like you said, you're not really here.” 

_“You're losing it, Amy.”_ Her mother's detached voice rings through her head. This one is definitely in her head. 

“She has a point.”

Ripley returns her attention to her desk, defeated. Wanting nothing less than to be proven wrong by herself, of all people. Her chin tucks into her elbow. 

“Go to bed, Amanda.” Samuels pads over and wraps a blanket around her shoulders. “You can always finish your work tomorrow.” 

Amanda blinks once, a landscape of metal shards, paperwork and wiring lays before her. The boiler, intact and what she can only assume will be operational, or close to, stares pompously on the desk beside her. 

“I thought you were working in here, I didn't know you'd fallen asleep like this.”

She sits up with a wince. Her back was hunched, legs crossed, one being very dead and the other filled with the grainy prickling of pins and needles. “-Didn't mean to. Was just resting my eyes.”

Samuels plucks the glasses from her nose and places them tidily in the top draw. “Come on, my love.” 

Ripley gets to her feet and walks the few steps to flop down on the woollen end of the bed, kicking her jeans to the floor. Silently apologising to Samuels as he pouts but leaves them. She folds herself into the most comfortable ball she'd ever been.

Samuels has slipped in behind her, laid a little straighter. Both still quite horizontal to the headboard, the awkward curl leaves an empty space between them. A hand sneaks over her waist and pulls her easily and lightly to fill it. Like relocating a favourite pillow- a pillow that turns and guides her thigh heavily over his, coming to rest over his union flag boxers. They had been a light-hearted gift, a hundred year old reference to the old world. But they did look quite good on him. 

“What's wrong?” He already knows. Of course he knows. 

Amanda holds him, all her desperation scrunched within the fistful of his shirt. “Please just don't go anywhere.”

“You had a nightmare, didn't you?”

“Not exactly.” She bites her lip, eyes closed against the threat of meeting his. The eyes she had prayed she'd see again for so long. The first friend her mess (her family's mess) had claimed. 

Fingers touch her cheek. 

“I don't say thank you, or do enough, or say how much you mean to me. I don't even think I can, it's probably not even humanly possible. You do so much for me, and have done since the moment we met, sometimes without even knowing. And God knows I wouldn't be here without your help on so many occasions.” 

The fingers move to very worriedly hold her jaw. 

“Just- thank you, Samuels.” She looks up to the eyes with all the expression and more any person could muster. “Thank you so much, for not leaving me. Maybe- maybe tomorrow we could just have a quiet day in to ourselves.”

“Maybe... maybe.”

Samuels smiles a kiss into her hair. Somehow, given the work she'd done, the bright engineering spark retuning so suddenly, like a saving grace, he very much doubts it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I just take a moment to appreciate each one of you for keeping this getting hits, writing your comments even though I've been MIA, and leaving kudos. Every single time it inspired me to do something about this work and not just let it die. So thank you to the most amazing readers anyone could ask for <3
> 
> And because exactly no one asked... My life has been pretty wild since the last update, and that doesn't even include the events of Nepal. The spider bite and all the leeches, driving on cliff edges, the heatstroke and canoeing in crocodile infested waters. Getting back awfully sick. My job closing under me, twice. Getting a new room mate and a new job. And here we are! A little more stable and perhaps (probably not) any wiser
> 
> If you've read this far, thank you again. Seriously, as serious as I get in fact. Thank you for your support. I'm happy to tell y'all I'll be going back to regular updates, tbd on the exact day of the week since I'm still getting to know this new job schedule... AND further good-ish? news the smut will be on it's way in the next few chapters ohoho... in a separate work, as promised. 
> 
> ILU ALL OKAY


	18. Human Touch

Daniels and Walter never seem to meet in the middle, and it was unequivocally infuriating Amanda.

In the space left by the synthetic's dutiful silence and soft wondering, Dani's hummingbird personality bloomed, alive and dynamic. Maybe he thought he was doing the universe a favour by gifting it more room for her, or maybe he just preferred not to be seen or heard. 

Throughout the first morning of work, Amanda would sometimes catch the other synthetic staring at Daniels whilst she spoke. Swaying on her words like poetry. Starry-eyed and an impossibly small tug at his cheek. So fallible, and completely hers. 

But never once did they even share the same atmosphere.

However the likeness of their relationships, they really couldn't be more opposite. Christopher and herself would comfortably nudge each other's boundaries. Both at the edges of one another, of what they were used to. They'd connect awkwardly with inexperience in love and desire, one as much present as the other. Certain he finds emotional devotion just as odd as she does, yet so very easy. 

Amanda Ripley was no more versed than the android in love since going out of her way to personally redefine the meaning of 'solitude'. Romance and friendship with people was boring. Selfish. Unachievable. And people left. So not once had she met another human being and thought about spending more than a brief moment on them.

So it had been a journey they were taking together, Amanda supposes. He is learning, just as she is. Though what the hell was going on with the other couple was something else entirely.

The disparity of comfort in the room is felt stronger perhaps only by Walter, who had observed the younger android through the day touching and holding his human partner without definitive permission. He wonders how they'd bridged the gap he seems so determinedly stuck on the other side of Daniels with. She had been caught wistfully looking over her coffee upon the other's earthly companionship, both beaming at each other as they carried the coffee machine to the workshop... previously known as the gardening shed. 

The truth was, Walter had never been very good at showing affection, as he is all but a professional at receiving it. Dani knows he is practical, calculating, rational, and unable to truly crave romance. Of course he can appreciate the small intimacies, and the large ones all the same, but would never initiate contact himself. She had learned to accept this, and knows if he didn't want to be here he didn't have to be; yet thankfully still is. Because there's something akin to what she would call love in the priority and care and attachment Daniels holds with him. 

Little does he know that's exactly what it is. 

“Thanks, literally couldn't have done that without you.” Ripley shakes her arms out and stands on her toes to kiss Christopher's cheek. 

Before he has a second to reply she's gone, making for the front room in some elbow grease inspired fever to grab her bedraggled tool bag. Amanda puts her hair up and scrubs dust off her cheeks. Despite not having been into anything too filthy, she appears to have gone hands and face first into the darkest part of a mechanical waste bin. The thighs of her jeans are copper with dust and an oil smudge has been painted to the front of her khaki brown shirt. Christopher knows Amanda would undoubtedly say he was 'checking her out'. He averts his gaze a little sheepishly.

“Over here.” Walter is waiting in the saloon doors. The way it's held open is slightly more pleasant than the knowledge they nearly dismantled each other within a glitch at one point. "Follow me."

Samuels is sure he's not being escorted out to where the deck area forms a comfortable nook. Walled high between a concrete skyscraper at the rear and the mossy firewall of a derelict store. 

“I'm glad to see you.” Walter sounds like it's contrary to expectations.

“You're glad?”

“Yes of course. There are no hard feelings. Are there?”

He sits on the cane deck chair. In the outdoors his skin is olive, far darker than his counterpart. Within it shows layers of his cheek where the three-dimensionally printed silicone differs from the authentic material. An injury from long ago healed, but not to Perfection.

“Ah, no. No, I don't think so. It was a terrible business, our argument. I still haven't made my way to apologising to Daniels yet.” Samuels takes a seat on the nearby swinging chair, discovering both that these rigs weren't build for Androids, and he had made a terrible decision as the thing seemed to grow a crafty mind of it's own. 

“Not necessary. You made brownies. Gestures of the edible kind are far more effective, believe me.” 

“I beg your pardon?” Samuels' brow furrows.

“There is only so much oatmeal one can consume before losing hope of ever enjoying anything else again. And they were enjoyed, so thank you.” Walter is watching his partner on the other side of the courtyard. “Besides, Daniels doesn't appear to be very devastated without your formal apology.”

She had very humanly distracted Amanda from work on the coffee machine, which never really begun, by discussing their grand home designs. Neither of them carpenters, painters, plumbers, but their tenacity seemed to make up for the fact. She had looked to be enjoying herself, laughably knocking Daniels and her tangent of which support beams could be safely removed for aesthetic and space. None, she reminded her. They hold up the damn roof. Besides, they're rustic. 

Dani avoided admitting she's right by directing them both outside. 

“What on Earth-?” Ripley knows exactly what she's looking at, as primitive a technology it is.

Contraptions like this had only been referenced in manuals. The old hot water system which appears to be a pride and joy of sorts, though it's a mystery as to why, is rusted in places and dented in most. And an absolute bucket if you ask Amanda. But still works! Dani insists on it. How they got one a hundred years after the last was supposedly fashioned, Ripley will never know. 

“Self-contained is what we're going for. And gas explodes, you know?”

“You tampered with the gas line?”

“Removed it completely. It was the compromise. Walter's a bit of a- what did Tennessee call them? An _environmental activist?_ ” Daniels laughs. She knows he can hear, though she's speaking just loud enough to make sure. 

“That's so illegal.” Amanda squats down at her side. “Lucky no council reps give a shit about this part of the city. Actually, no one does really. It's like a ghost town out there this time of year.” 

“Is that why you moved here too?” Daniels falls back against the lovely warm boiler and sits facing her friend. 

_That's why They moved me here, more like._ “Something like that.”

Walter is gently regarding the woman raving about how the weather will begin clearing soon. The eyes just about fall out of her head when Amanda mentions her apartment building's rooftop pool, and of course she's welcome to use it because she sure as hell doesn't. _“What do you mean there was no time to learn how to swim in space!? Were you born up there?” … “ Well, yeah, actually...”_

“What she lacks in moderation she makes up for in character.” Walter smiles and Samuels has to admit he is a more luminous being than himself. Then again, legal is intended to be far less approachable than crewmembers. “Seems like you might know what I'm talking about.”

“I most certainly do. Amanda hasn't been this driven in a long time.” 

“There's only so much we can manage, you know that. While we can be there for them in a lot of ways, ways that matter, sometimes it doesn't compete with their communication.” 

“The human touch.”

“Don't laugh.” 

“I am very far from laughing.” Christopher doesn't move a muscle. “I only have five responsibilities on this Earth, and Amanda is four of them. Should I count myself as the fifth. Though you may be right, there are some things we can't do to help. Time has still proven quality of life suffers without a good synthetic. Just as quality of existence would utterly diminish without the very best of humans.” 

He knows he should say all humans. It's in his code, indisputable and insufferable, even when it came to the most foul of their species. But a few that stood out from the rest creates a distinct blur between having to save, and worth dying for. One, just one, makes that line crystal clear. 

Walter agrees quietly, maybe because it had always been easier than not understanding. He is, and will always be bad at some things, like self appreciation and sitting down while humans work; and good at others, like gardening. If Christopher was going to be stuck with him for the day, he'd live to teach him a few things. 

“Do you have knowledge in horticulture?” 

Samuels is caught by surprise, swinging his seat off balance as his posture throws his centre of gravity. He has no choice but to get to his feet. 

The pause says enough.

“Come, I'll show you. I have my own duties to attend while the shed is occupied.” 

On the ground, Daniels slaps her knees as the synthetics pass by, hoisting herself upright, hand outstretching for Amanda. “Right, we should probably start up too! You ready to get that old thing working?”

“Daniels, you really shouldn't be so hard on Christopher.” Walter doesn't miss a beat, a shark-like grin with steely eyes reminds the other synthetic he'd been around much longer than he was given credit for. 

Though apologetically, Amanda can't stop herself from laughing at the expression on Samuels' face. Offended and not really knowing what to do with himself. He takes a deep composing breath in and something tells her whatever is coming next is going to be spectacular!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"Whattup my name is jared im 19 and i never freaking learned how to"_ **update my fics on time**... I am so so sorry this hasn't been updating more frequently. Chapters from now will be every Wednesday, and the other adult oriented work will be posted this week and updated every fortnight. Or whenever I crawl from under my office desk and edit. It is the b a n e of my existence. 
> 
> I'm terribly sorry this work is still going. There's no real end in sight yet, and I don't want to annoy the community, but I quite literally crash my phone with how many chapters I have of this written out. It's still good practice writing for my original work...
> 
> Anyways thank you again so much for reading, ilu all <3


	19. Creation

Amanda's face is a picture of determination as she squints down at this absolute doorstop of a manual. Bowl of ramen perilously shoved to the table edge, and coffee never straying too far from her lips; this is as far as obvious, making a great amount more room for paper waste and slabs of calcified, rusted metal. 

It's not as if she wasn't more than welcome to use the space however she sees fit, it was _her_ table, Samuels just occupied it sometimes. Mainly to enjoy the company of Amanda during her meals. But since every surface in the house was becoming increasingly overrun, he'd been banished to the couch with his human companion sometimes hunkering up with him for dinner. If only on the rare chance she wasn't diving face first into noodles while hard at work, or declining to eat entirely. 

So Christopher doesn't make a fuss about the clutter; she is eating even if not with him anymore. 

The silence, on the other hand, is torturous. 

“Amanda, when is your birthday?”

“I don't have a birthday.” 

“That's improbable.”

She takes a sip of coffee. It, and the mess of wire that had somehow- within the walk through the park- tangled themselves into knots, were the only items in the room that weren't feeling oddly neglected. 

“Amanda?” Samuels prods.

“What? Oh, it's not improbable, but actually impossible. Still, here I am!” She jokes and raises up on an elbow to get a birdseye view, catching Christopher's skepticism over her glasses. “Don't look at me like that. Listen, I don't like making a big deal out of just another day.” 

“But it will be the first birthday I spend with you. Or anyone for that matter.” He has turned around on the couch, smiling into his elbow, a twinkle in his eye that can only be compared to mischief. 

Ripley has to refrain from injecting venom into her words. “Why did you even ask? You already know, don't you? Of course you do... Fucking personnel files.”

“Apologies.” 

“If your planning something, don't. I don't like birthdays, never have, and I would prefer to celebrate on any other day for any other reason.”

Samuels turns back to face out the window and enjoy the glimpse of sunshine. “I wouldn't dare.”

“Chris?” Amanda crosses her arms over the solid book. “When's your birthday?” 

Truth be told, Samuels has no idea when this vessel was created. Its manufacturers number exists in specifications he prefers to keep undisclosed. _Created between such-and-such a year, number so-and-so off the production line. Purpose of Faults and Recall._ They all have it, and it makes him worth- no, feel... less. 

“I don't believe I've ever had a birthday, or rather a celebration of being. It's been more of a process. For the record, I'm not opposed to the idea, but I've never designated a day to celebrate myself. It seems too grandiose for someone of my, uh, physique.” 

Samuels can probably recall six or so monumental days throughout his existence. His creation and induction, re-installation and Resurrection. Et cetera, et cetera. None of which feel right anyway, but does the day he met Ripley count? Or the day he deactivated for her? They were awakenings, if only briefly. 

He furrows his brow. “I've never truly had an existence to worry about before-.” 

“What? Savastopol?”

“No. Before I met you.”

Amanda closes the book with a defiant thud. Her first instinct is to argue that of course he had an existence, he mattered since ever! But mattered to who? She's not stupid, she knows how the majority looks upon synthetics. Amanda couldn't say for sure if she would have even given Chris a second glance had a lot of things not happen. 

But she did; at least give him a first glance to begin with. Which spoke volumes about anyone, let alone one sporting Weyland-Yutani colours at all. They sat down in the crib room, they talked. He drank her coffee with what may have even been a smile. And Amanda Ripley wondered if the only good to come from the entire company, had been this synthetic. 

She softens. “Well that makes two of us, doesn't it?” 

It may have been easy for Amanda to resist arguing, but her fidgeting partner looks practically incapable of letting this self depreciation slide. 

The smile she cracks is of good humour, because sooner or later one of them was going to suffocate on the unyielding air practically steaming up the room. “What if I pick a day for you? Would you accept that?”

Christopher thinks for a moment. He was so far proven unable to pick for himself, and if the whole day is a gift, it would decidedly be the best of all. He nods agreeably. 

“So, what about tomorrow?” 

“You're teasing.” He's shocked straight, certainly she wasn't serious. 

Amanda chuckles under her breath, taking off her glasses, using (and naturally losing) them as a bookmark in a roll of paper. “I am not!”

“You want me to share your birthday?” Why anyone would want to part with something so valuable is far beyond Samuels' comprehension.

“Like I said, I don't do birthdays. You can have it.” Amanda comes to sit beside him, nuzzling her way onto his suede couch that always felt a little stodgy. 

Chris holds her face, trailing from cheek to shoulder where he squeezes perfectly. “You're only trying to get out of a celebration, aren't you?”

“Yeah, but I don't like my chances. We could just spend the day out together. Find something to do in the city?”

“You hate the city.” 

“And you love it.” Amanda holds his hand to her lips, giving it a very persuasive kiss. “And I love you, so you're just going to have to trust that I really, _really_ , don't want tomorrow to be about me. Let's do whatever you like, I'd rather that than just have another day dedicated to the fact I was born. Since I really didn't have a choice in the matter.” 

Samuels looks a little pensive. “Can I propose a condition?”

“Depends.”

“I can get you a gift, and you must accept it. But please remember I am faster and stronger than you, so don't be angry. No matter how much it costs.” 

Amanda laughs in amusement. “Threats? Really! Isaac Asimov would be turning in his grave.”

“Thankfully threats are still, and will always be, beyond me. But I can state the likelihood of you being inclined to hold me off the top story for this in particular.” As if to illustrate this he tugs at his collar, perhaps regretting giving her the idea.

“Okay, how much are we talking?" Ripley's policy about not being worthy of gifts lives on, but also wants to know whether or not to wear appropriate synthetic-chasing footwear. "If you're celebrating the day with me then I have to match it at least.”

“You can't.” The answer is simple. Light, yet holds some obscurely devastating consequence. 

“Christopher?”

He moves past her questioning. Bright again, however forcefully. “The deal so far is, I have to celebrate tomorrow with you, and you have to accept a gift. Last call for conditions.” 

He offers his hand to her and Amanda considers it for a moment before standing up. "Fine, if dinner, drinks, and everything else is on me.”

Samuels nods and gets to his feet confidently, palm outstretched again. Not long does he forget the utter force behind her handshakes. “I believe we have a deal.”

“Deal!” 

Amanda has her wallet ready and is heading towards the door before realizing with sudden horror. Equipped with the organizational skills of a hurricane, she only has a day to come up with a first birthday for an old man. This was going to be a disaster of galactic proportions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yoo, first scheduled update is here. I really don't have much to say about this other than the usual thank you so so much for reading, and sorry it's a little shorter. I am enjoying the peace while it lasts... <3 <3 Is she talking about the regular updates, or Ripley and Samuels. Nobody knows!


	20. Salvage

Amanda had predicted right. It was a colossal failure of an evening, and she was grateful that she had indeed worn sneakers. 

It hadn't been the company or the candle lit dinner at a central French restaurant, the complete ignorance of wine ( _'what do you mean there's more than red and white?'_ ) or watching Avatar for perhaps the hundredth time- it was a rooftop cinema and so terribly romantic. The whole night had gone rather smoothly. Christopher appearing to be enjoying himself in spades, though snuffing Amanda's fun with frank refusal to participate in the extinguishing of flames atop baked goods.

No, it was none of the above that ruined the evening, but what had occurred afterward. 

Amanda, waiting by the street for her partner to finish his very important errand, had heard the kerfuffle. Turning to investigate she had been confronted with a very arced up Samuels exiting a nearby news-vendor. Like a muzzled dog with its hackles raised, his social programming making him appear square, tense, unpredictable. Even scary. All to avoid being damaged. A gentleman, or a slobbering waste of oxygen as it appeared, is all too familiar with the bark: no bite, and rains down verbal abuse. His right to be in the checkout line before him, let alone exist at all, questioned. 

When Amanda had intervened, Samuels didn't look embarrassed or ashamed, despite the sorts of things the man was spitting. He looked sorry. Apologetic for the attention. For being different. 

And heedless of the gathering crowd, Amanda Ripley had seen red. 

“Let me see that.” 

“It's fine. I'm fine, just pissed.” 

“You're bleeding, Ripley. It's not 'fine'. Let me have a look, if not for my sake, than for the dotted line you've just left for the authorities.” 

She knows Christopher Samuels is going to say anything to get her to cooperate, but he's got a valid point. A quick glance behind confirms a beeline around the corner. As if on queue, a siren yelps at civilians a block down. 

“Fuck. We gotta get off the street. Right now.” 

They duck into an alley so slimy with disrepute Amanda is certain her feet are slipping. Pounding music and neon glow, she would have felt right at home in the dreariest corner of this intoxicated mess a year ago. Samuels, however unbefitting of their surroundings, adorned in wheat-coloured cashmere, isn't entirely out of place being only a portion of silicone in the vicinity. There isn't a doubt that he would have been chewed up and spat out by a place like this. Had his companion not been cradling a bloody fist. 

They find a bar to huddle into the booth of and Samuels doesn't give his self-assigned patient any time to protest. He inspects her hand; shaking and nicked right through the centre knuckle. Somehow he still felt worse for the other guy, left to nurse his broken nose. Alone. 

“My programming-” Samuels finally says as if she doesn't already know the spiel. “I don't know what- I wish I wasn't... myself, I suppose.” 

“Don't even start, pal.” Ripley yanks her hand away and wraps a napkin around the injury, potentially worse than imagined if the android's objectionable squint is anything to go by. “Anyone would have held me back, people that care at least. And that list starts and ends with you.”

“No, Amanda. You know it's not what I'm referring to. I wish I'd done that because I care about you, love you, but I was never given a choice. You were a threat I had to subdue. And that's what... That's why...” 

Samuels gulps hard, his hands wrung in his lap, jumping as a spring shower clatters down on the roof. Environmental karma for her actions, Ripley supposes. A split lip obviously wasn't enough. She didn't regret it. Not by a long shot. 

The man had shoved Samuels as they tried to leave, and though he practically bounced off his chest like a crash dummy, Ripley's practiced swing wasn't here for a bar of it. Safety protocols boot up, aggressor- in this case his companion- restrained instantly, but it was only when the man punched back, not at Christopher, that would have been fine (may have even broke his hand) but Amanda, that he acted before his code of conduct could stop him. 

Defenselessly held back around her shoulders. The crack of fist to her jaw was hard enough to reverberate metalically through Samuels' bones, _and it was his fault._

“Men shouldn't hit women.” Christopher realizes the civilian hadn't been the one to strike first but in his certainly unbiased opinion, it had been overdue. “People shouldn't resort to violence, but especially men. It's not right.” 

“They say the same about synthetics. C'mon it's fucking crazy, Chris. Even if you have more brains about you than humans that go 'round king-hitting people, and it was hot as hell, how is that possible?” 

“Ripley, this is serious. We're not supposed to be able to contemplate it, let alone...” 

His own hand is already half way through self repair. It hadn't bled, or even 'hurt' as such. The closest thing being the electrified torrent he received for downing the aggressor. It had pushed him backward a ways, feeling like a shell full of static. 

“I- I don't know what happened. There's so very much wrong with something like me, yes, Amanda, 'thing', that can strike a human completely unbridled. The Working Joes for one were manipulated, their constraints far more malleable. But just for a second imagine a Weyland-Yutani model rogue enough to cause harm. Serious harm. Imagine the damage...”

“Hey, hey! Don't start going soft on me, I was just starting to like this Terminator Samuels.” Amanda is rewarded with a sophisticated scoff as he hunches unprofessionally in the booth. “Listen, there's nothing wrong with you, okay? You were shocked and angry and reacted like anyone would've. And yeah, I gave that guy a pretty solid hook for his trouble, but what happened after was just shit. Not-your-fault-shit. Shit I _definitely_ deserved.” Amanda could have convinced anyone except her current audience, but she perseveres. “Don't beat yourself up, guy had a fist like a butterfly wing anyway.” 

“Well, you two just have to be idiots. That butterfly is still out there pacing up and down the strip, and I think you and your synthetic may have just proven his point. Not to mention thanks, now I'm going to have to deal with that on my commute to work every day.” 

The couple look to the woman who'd spoken from a nearby table. She's dressed in flannel with leather and looks like she'd been born, raised, and shaped by this very pub. Though could've done much better for her blue eyes had circumstance seen to it. 

Samuels says nothing, glancing wearily as Amanda replies for the both of them. Decidedly, he's done enough harm for one evening. 

“Yeah, uh sorry, who are you?” 

“Someone who wants to buy you both a drink.” The woman practically bubbles with joy. “Fuck the dude! I've been hanging out for something like that to happen. Hell, would have done it myself if my job didn't ride on it. Tearing into synthetics like that.” 

She extends her hand to Samuels first and he seems shocked but takes it wholeheartedly. 

“Margaret. Or Maggie. Synthetic tech.” _Ah!_

Amanda is next to shake her hand without Samuels feeling the need to introduce himself. “Ripley, engineer. Also Weyland Yutani.” 

“No shit? Well, Ripley Engineer. Let me buy you a drink, and your Samuels too, if he's inclined every now and then. Can't just sit around here and take up a table all night.” 

“Actually he's not mine, he's-” 

“Retired.” Christopher cuts in earning a questioning glance. “I won't drink but I'll accompany you to the bar if you like.” 

Maggie beams and after raving for a minute straight about the ginger beer despite the establishment's reputation, disappears to fetch a pint with a very suspicious android. Amanda, with what feels like her life placed in the question of whether this woman could be trusted, leaves to clean her hand in the bathroom. 

It had been a weird evening, Amanda thinks as she dabs a paper towel to her split lip. It stings; not by far the worst she'd ever received. Or the least justified. But it could be considered strange, the chance a technician had watched the fight go down, and ended up in the same pub is a slim one to begin with. Not to mention being indifferent to a robot decking a man brutally, in every sense of the word, and not even reporting said incident. 

She grips the edges of the sink and takes a desperate breath. 

“You okay in there?” Maggie is peering around the wall to her. 

“Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. Just a rough night. Did Christopher send you?” 

“No, well, yeah. But you didn't look so hot and I half expected to see you sprawled on the floor or something.” The blonde looks to be making measure of the other woman. “But you're tougher than you look. Not your first time throwing punches with gents is it?”

Amanda laughs. “That obvious? I'm okay, just taken by surprise I guess, but not by that. By- something else. You work with synthetics, right? Can you tell if he's okay?”

“If he's safe to be around?” 

“No, like if he's actually okay after what happened. He's been through hell and now this. I just... I worry.” 

Maggie's voice drops as she leans by the mirror, arms folded like a wall, she watches the door as if it may just come alive and quote her later. “You know, with the way WY is going, one peek at the software and man... Shady fucking business, lemme tell ya. But not Samuels, he seems alright. Removed from the uplink and all. If I had to diagnose, in my very modest and vastly over-qualified opinion, he's adapting.” 

“That's why he could...” 

“Sure. But I wouldn't push it. He's lucky he didn't need surgery after a system-wide shock like that. Rough deal, huh?” She shares a smile with Amanda. “Way to ruin a birthday. Yeah, yeah! He told me all about it- as worried about you, as you are of him. C'mon, he's probably getting bored out there.” 

Samuels brightens as they approach and shuffles a space free for his companion. A discreet nod from him proves the beer sliding over to her is safe to drink and she does have to agree, it is rather wonderful ginger beer. 

“Chappy here was telling me at the bar what you said to the guy before.” Maggie looks far too entertained by the thought. “Robot uprising?” 

“Yeah, that he wasn't going to live to see it anyway if he kept mouthing off.” 

“Didn't like that very much.” The synthetic's smile returns piece by piece. 

“Well, as far as birthday's stack up, this one sounds memorable at least for the both of you.” 

“It'll be easy to beat next year.” Amanda gives Samuels' a shoulder pat, leaning on him cozily. 

Christopher looks a little sad at this, and it's not immediately obvious as to why. Maybe he thinks he's not getting another birthday seeing as he personally blames himself for jinxing this one. Or maybe after the events of the night, he simply doesn't want another. 

“You're really lucky to have someone like Ripley here.” Maggie nods over at them. “I'm a senior repairs supervisor, you should see some of the civil servant bots that we get back in. People, people are fucked. God, it makes me so mad. But giving your synthetic buddy your birthday, that's a new one for me. Might even go up on the whiteboard at work. Positive encouragement paves the way!” 

“Building better worlds.” Samuels chimes in leading Maggie to recoil back, perhaps wondering how long it had taken him to master the art of sarcasm. 

It sits too casually with Amanda by now. “Just for reference, Chris. Not all birthdays will be like this. Some might be worse.” 

Maggie drinks to that. 

Somehow in all twists and turns of conversation, Christopher has taken command of one of Amanda's beverages and it isn't until half-eleven that he taps her leg patiently. They had, after all, given him every chance to join in the conversation. He'd declined, more than wrapped with the entertainment for the last hour. The technician asks if they will stay longer but Samuels has a way of insisting without insisting that they get going. It's easily picked up on by his partner who leaves her with a fresh drink and a pat on the back. 

The weather stunningly cleared, air pollution washed into the gutters of the city, leaving the sky clear for the rest of the universe to shine through. The human and synthetic walk arm in arm, definitely not for Amanda's sake. There's a dull buzz of alcohol where her pain should be, still, she's not drunk. Even if it takes a few more steps than sober to realise the heat in her elbow has vanished and Samuels is stopped in his tracks. 

“Chris?” 

His hands are in his pockets, concentration absorbed by the ground ahead. “Maggie really seemed quite taken with you.” 

“She was really nice. Are you okay?” 

Samuels smiles as if he's facing down a timer. Zero being the end of the world as he knows it; he can slow the hands for just a few more moments. “I'm always alright, but would you sit with me?”

Ripley allows herself to be guided to a nearby bus stop. It's not romantic in the slightest, exception being in company. 

“You know, I made my very first birthday wish today.” 

“Wait, don't tell me! It won't come true.”

Amanda endures the silence as a length of traffic speeds past, headlights illuminating the sadness between them for an instant. 

“I wished an Amanda Ripley for every good soul in the universe. Everyone deserving of the way you make me feel.” He says finally. “I made it without thinking of you. Leaving you stuck with people who are just lucky, nothing else. Maybe, like myself, being in the right place and the right time.” Christopher doesn't dare look at Ripley's face. “In my wish, I didn't realize you can never be truly happy because you're not something anyone can give or take unwilling, and not something anyone can call their own. So it's unfair for me to try.” 

“Okay. Just stop this, stop and please talk to me properly. Not in riddles I'll work out three days down the road. What's happening?” 

He seems to lift his spirits, locating whatever he'd been searching for in his glove pocket. “I'll get back to that, I promise. But right now it's still your birthday- our birthday, and I haven't forgotten our deal.” 

Amanda wants to say fuck the gift and to explain himself, but the way he's angled to her on their seat, the nervous shiver that should never have been so naturally possible, his well being is determined far more important. Out from the pocket he brings a burned orange box. It's tucked snugly into the palm of Ripley's hand. “I'm sorry, it was meant to be with a card, but we had to run.” 

“Christopher...” Amanda's stare is stone cold. Confused and warning. The pieces aren't coming together, or are and she doesn't like them. “What is this?” 

“Please, open it.” 

He watches her peel the ribbon away as if something could leap out at any second. So gingerly lifting out the contents with a demeanor that doesn't suit her hands. 

The first and most striking thing is the lettering, engraved with what she recognizes to be fourteen karat gold along a length of steel. In it is tools she would most likely use in her every day life. An adjustable wrench, pliers, a screwdriver. 

“It's... A Leatherman.” She tilts it so the lettering shines in the street lamp. “The gold, it's stunning.” 

Christopher would look rather accomplished to Amanda if she took her eyes away for just a moment. “Harvested from my past cardiovascular system, it was the only thing I could save.” 

“This- this is part of your old heart?” 

Samuels doesn't respond, she knows what it is. Amanda is smarter than that. It's smelted from otherwise scrap circuitry; a very unromantic chunk of the system that receives electrical current from the CPU; contracting on a rhythm, filtering impurities from his fluid stream, monitoring his core temperature. 

The piece he never really knew why he kept if not for the sake of remembering. 

Amanda is staring at the name of the tool, she reads it over and over again. A quiet voice escapes her. “ _If You're Willing_.” 

“Something to remember me by.” Christopher holds her hands in the tepid spring air, her fingertips still icy in his own. “You have given me priceless gifts since I met you, Amanda. Freedom, closure, a real birthday. Yet all I appear to do is cause you grief. _She_ will still be there now, if it's what you want. Maggie is kind, even to the likes of me, and emotional. You will have the option to marry and to grow old with someone. Things I cannot give you any other way than this. Believe me when I say she is better for you than I could ever dream to be.” 

Amanda can't believe what she's hearing, on tonight of all nights. If she hadn't given her birthday away, this one would take the cake. “No, that's bullshit!” 

“Yes, she is.” 

“I mean you! That's bullshit! You can't be my boyfriend and wingman in the same breath. Sorry. Doesn't work like that.” Amanda storms a clear few feet away and bites her lip for good measure, she doesn't have to disguise the splitting pain with Samuels so previously hung up. 

“Y- your what?” 

“What? Oh, boyfriend. Man-friend. If you'd rather that.” 

“I'm your... boyfriend?” Samuels looks like he's about to have a meltdown. 

Amanda kind of wants to see that happen. “Yes! What the hell do you think you are?” 

Christopher doesn't know. He really provides nothing other than companionship most days. They share everything else by means of hard work and an Amanda declared severance-pay-for-one turned retirement-fund-for-two. 

“Partner, or companion. Someone with whom to share time and intimacy, for however long it lasts. I never though of us any less serious, just never assumed we were so, I'm not sure how to put this, labeled.” 

Amanda doesn't reply, she still hasn't stopped chewing on her lip. 

“Are you certain?” 

“Are you _listening?_ ” Amanda rolls her eyes to the heavens. “For someone with a super computer for a brain, you can be so dumb sometimes.” 

Out of the very same pocket as before, Samuels pulls a note. It's crumpled and kind of soggy from what looks like ginger beer or cider, or whatever they had ended up drinking. In smudged writing is a name, number, and an 'x' just in case there was any confusion. He holds it over a nearby bin, a last offer on the table for an almost offensively long time. He's not stopped from letting it fall, instead is surrounded by his favourite arms in the world. 

“Goodbye Ms. McClaren.” Amanda salutes apologetically. 

“I almost feel bad for her.” Christopher is warm. A human, his human, (his girlfriend if he could get away with saying it) is wrapped around his chest against a city bus stop. Fingers holding on from within the sides of his jacket, kissing for everyone to see. “Almost.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, this took so much longer to edit I didn't have a chance to post the smut. But it works out perfectly if it's posted next week anyways, it belongs after coming events if things are going to be in order. Keep an eye out for a work called "Safety Protocols", that'll be it! 
> 
> Anyway, it's nearly 3-no-4am and I work tomorrow. I disgracefully edited this as much as as possible at such a weird hour, just wanted to get it up in time. I can't thank you enough for your comments and kudos, as always. You fill my heart with so much joy ;A;
> 
> For now, I sleep. <333


	21. Save Water

Amanda had no idea of the daily habits of synthetic people. She'd never been given reason to consider their grooming routines like shaving and showering, and definitely never once thought that yes, they most certainly did require dental hygiene products. Not until she was confronted with a basket of toiletries on the way home with a new roommate. 

These days, as naturally as anything else in their lives, the bathroom had slowly developed into a common area. Mirror and sink at least, becoming a meeting place for both edges of the day. The other's company is a nice change without the need to recluse privately just for gearing up and rinsing off. 

Which is usually a good thing. Usually. 

“Whatever I've done, Christopher. I am sorry!” 

Samuels leans away from the woman, wash cloth in his hand, potentially owning the dictionary definition of 'frown' at this point. He'd caught her doing what had been actively _not_ washing her face. A splash of water, soap, a dab of a towel. _Done? -No-_ the argument of needing a protective layer of mud like a rhinoceros goes without humouring.

_“You missed a spot.”_

_“I don't know, it looks pretty good to me!”_

_A gesture to her entire face and décolleté proves the existence grime and synthetic attention to detail._

_“Oh, well shit.”_

_“Please think of my pillow cases, Amanda.”_

And so she is sitting on the edge of the bathtub as Samuels crouches between her knees with an offensively dirty cloth, clearly just as unhappy about the turn of it's life as it gets progressively, and shockingly, darker. 

“Do I have any skin left?”

“Yes, and I can even see it through all the... Camouflage.” Samuels wipes the last of the hard to see places under her jaw. She looks back, chin up, brandishing the collar bones that are suddenly making an appearance again. He fights the urge to doctor and wrings the greywater out under the faucet. “Who knew there was a woman under all this? A pretty one too.” Contrary to the face she pulls. 

In protest, Amanda takes the towel and continues excavating her pores herself. 

“How come you've been gardening all day and you don't get as grubby as I do?” 

“I don't have skin, I have a surface.” 

“Right.” 

“Also I suspect Walter is onto the fact I kill anything green I so much as look at, if only for the universe to prove him wrong about me, so I've been encouraged more to help Daniels. He didn't have to tell me twice, not like I would want him to.” 

It's suddenly clear that in Amanda's laser focus on a thousand different things at once- all of those thousand existing within a sad looking coffee machine- she hadn't realised his absence in the courtyard at all. 

She places the cloth on the rim of the teetering washing basket. It's eyed by Chris who reaches to take it out. “Nope, it's my turn, remember? I promise I'll do it tomorrow before work.” 

Christopher nods and leaves it to continue his washing up. Good for her promises to a fault, it at least implied she wouldn't be rushing out early. Maybe they'd even make time for breakfast. 

“Okay. What's on your mind? You're making my ears ring. And I'm sure that's not just the usual bells and crickets.” Ripley takes a long swig of mouthwash and sits back down to swish. 

Samuels pats his face dry, replacing the face towel- another fancy addition that came with a synthetic roommate- neatly on the towel rack. “I was wondering if we could go on a holiday, when your work is done of course. Maybe Daniels and Walter too if renovations come along alright.” 

Amanda tries to shrug her question. 

“Why?”

She nods. 

“It was wonderful to spend the other evening with you, with more time together than we've had in a few weeks. Even though the night didn't exactly end as planned.” The guilt that forms on Amanda's face makes him do a mental U-turn. “Perhaps if you want to, we could go somewhere south. I've always wanted to see a beach.” 

All she can do is squint until she spits the mouthwash into the sink. “You've never seen a beach, which is only a few hours away, but you've been allocated off-planet how many times? Weren't you entitled to holidays or anything?” 

Samuels looks a little ruffled as if he'd personally taken her offense to this on board, rather than seen it directed to the assholes back at HQ. “Well, it was never really something within my control, Amanda. My life was once governed by instruction from directors and CEO's and anyone with a heartbeat, to an extent.” 

“I know that, I'm sorry. It's not what I meant.” Amanda rubs the back of Christopher's shirt flat. “What's this about really? You know if I'm spending too much time out, if you want me to take a day- or ten- off, _if you're getting lonely,_ all you have to do is ask. For whatever you want. Things aren't like that any more.” 

Christopher wasn't lonely, it simply wasn't possible. There's no translation of experience that let him feel his solitude negatively. Not even in his time surrounded by empty space, floating above the swallowed ruins of a monumental tragedy. Though it had been a little mercy that his circuits were so scrambled half of the experience could be considered sleep. The lucid bits were filled with over exposed snapshots of stars, pixelated storms, the endless black dragging him further and further towards the edge of the universe. Any day now, sure he'd fall right over the edge. No real loss. 

But if nothing else, this time was good for thought. So he wasn't lonely, but he did miss. He did wonder almost uncontrollably about one thing in particular. 

“Ripley, in that case, may I ask something?” She nods. “Come here?” Obliging, permission granted, Samuels lifts Amanda up over his waist and onto the bathroom counter. He wraps her up in his arms, silently missing the contact, the way she relaxes, her heels lock behind him, thighs tighten on his waist; silently wishing she had never agreed to fix that coffee machine. 

Ripley reaches up and pushes his damp hair back out of his face, tucking stray tufts away neatly. He does need a haircut, and she knows her way around scissors, but she also supposes this is more hair to play with. Especially if she was taking some time off. 

“I don't intend to put you in a situation where you'd rather not compromise. You being satisfied and happy is always priority. I am only trying to tell you I miss you.” Her endearing gaze melts Samuels a bit, her cheek resting onto his shoulder, a light kiss on his neck. “But having your company just a tad more often would be nice as well.” He adds carefully. 

“Received, loud and clear.” She mumbles with a chuckle. “I know I've been going bull-at-a-gate on this project, pass-time, whatever. I'm going to be home more... We can still go on a holiday if you want?”

“Perhaps, I'll look into it. You have your hobby, I'll have mine.”

She lifts her head, an agreeable nod only lasts as long as it takes to look to her partner's shirt. Dark gritty marks stamped into the fabric don't look like they're going to come out easily. “How!?”

Samuels does his finest impersonation of a sigh, granted, he does get to insist on doing the laundry himself now. The hamper leans dangerously as his top is cast over it. 

Amanda wets her thumb and scrubs it into his neck where she'd imprinted a sooty blob. “I swear, I'm practically made of this stuff.” She leans forward to grab a tissue and isn't sure if she'd never witnessed the android move so fast out of her grimy path. “Oh god, you know what, I'll just have a shower.” 

“Amanda,” Samuels voice is very careful, “could I ask one more thing, with your permission?” 

“Mm?”

“Would you like company?” 

“Company?” Amanda had said 'ask' and 'anything' in the same sentence. “In the shower, now? Together?”

“Completely innocent in intent.” Samuels looks like a picture of vulnerability. “But yes.” 

“Um...” She supposes they had showered before, clothed, in very different circumstances. And her partner had seen nearly all of her at one angle or another. It didn't quite, but may as well equal the same as just showering. At close proximity. In a hot steamy cubicle... Maybe not. The real conundrum was the extent she'd ever seen or felt of Samuels ended at the waist and started below the thigh. And she doesn't know if she's ready to crack that can of curiosity yet. 

Or is she?

“Are you worried about something?” 

Amanda feels her heart jump. "Worried? No. Nervous? Yes." 

Not that it would matter, but what if he was built differently? Or exactly the same and she's caught by surprise? What if in place of anything she could ever expect, is a nuclear reactor or a collapsed star? Okay, she's being ridiculous. But as someone who'd given little more thought to the mystery of the synthetic physique than she had about their hygiene routines, what can anyone expect?

“I'm anatomically correct, if that's what you're concerned about.” Samuels states as if he hadn't just made Ripley's stomach cramp terribly. The whole spiel that follows is almost pre-recorded, or maybe the 'what's in your pants' question wasn't just infuriating and offensive for humans to endure. “For as long as the second wave of synthetics has been released, across the board we are given the knowledge of all human behaviour. Predominantly for clinical purposes, should humans require medical advice regarding anything.” The words slowly become more Samuels. “But physically, we're mass produced by machines now, there's no need to shame the hands of technicians with crafting individual body parts beyond the supporting frame. It makes us convincingly alike the real thing.” 

Amanda nods understandingly. “I wasn't actually concerned, I just had no freaking clue how to bring it up, but thank you. It's not a conversation I've ever needed to have before.” 

“Whether people you've slept with had the... Hardware.” 

Amanda laughs and hangs her head, a little guilty for saying anything at all. “No, I just meant I'm not going to waltz up to a synth and ask what's downstairs. It never mattered to m- wait a minute. Who said anything about sleeping wi- we're showering, buddy! Don't get any ideas.” Amanda is obviously joking; if Christopher wanted to have more ideas that would truly be fine. 

“No ideas here,” _damn,_ “I understand the curiosity, and I trust you to ask me anything you want and I won't be unwilling to have that conversation. This is something very different with me, I suppose.”

“Something different, with someone better.” Ripley swings her legs happily as he seems to agree. 

“So, shower?”

“Why not.” 

Samuels twists the hot water on as she throws her pyjama top to the hamper. Briefly faulting at the bare chested challenge, and with a rather delicious stretch, her underwear comes off, teetering the pile too far. Out of it falls a wardrobe of shirts, socks, pants, and Christopher finds he really couldn't give a damn. His own boxers are kicked to the ground. 

Amanda doesn't look but clearly bites the inside of her cheek, an “oh" under her breath. In Samuels' opinion, it's a good sign.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Save water, shower together_ ;D
> 
> After everything they've been through recently, these two love birds deserve a hot shower; which is just a normal shower, but with them in it... Stay tuned for Safety Protocols later tonight! 
> 
> Thank you so so so much for your comments last chapter wow my heart, you guys are the greatest~ <3


	22. Penne For Your Thoughts

“What are you doing?” Daniels snatches a knife out of Christopher's hands. “I thought I told you to go be a guest somewhere!”

Walter peers over the service window into the kitchen as the android backs away from the pointed object. Content that his partner, though agitated, is the opposite of in danger, he reclines to continue debating with the woman practically leaning over the table. She speaks with the same passion he'd expect from a verbal attempt at strangulation with words like 'light sabre' and 'middle chlorine's'. 

Christopher isn't sure if he heard either correctly.

“I don't know what to do.” 

“Well, we don't have many people over. Ever. So your guess is as good as mine. Go talk nerd with Amanda and Walter.” 

“I do not really-” 

“Jesus.” Daniels rubs her brow.

Short of walking laps around the kitchen, all but lost in an unhelpful stupor, she takes mercy on the poor bot. 

“Okay.” A wooden spoon is waved in his direction and he beams. “Just to be clear, if this tastes bad, which is kind of likely, I will blame your stirring. Don't let it burn.” 

He nods in approval and stands beside her. 

“So,” Daniels doesn't seem as comfortable with silence as Samuels is. 

“So,” he graciously offers back, “you don't enjoy pop culture then?” 

She shakes her head, “but Walter loves it. He's always interested in creations like art and music, but when it comes to movies... I remember he made me pull every Star Wars out of The Cov- out of our ship's media storage and watch them with him fresh out of a sleep cycle. Pretty sure he woke me up early too.” She sounds annoyed, but still smiles quite fondly. "Rip seems like she's all about it.” 

Amanda's frustrations seeps across the building, to be fair she should know by now it's either very easy or impossible to argue with someone like Walter. There's no in between. 

“Yes, she watched them a long while ago with someone whom she deeply cared about. And though she refuses to watch them again with anyone else, they still live in a very nostalgic place. Now, I suppose more than ever.” 

“But you don't care for it?” 

“I do enjoy reading. Quite a lot. But I struggle to visualize and appreciate most science fiction. It's a little beyond my capabilities.” And by the time Samuels finishes explaining why the human race would never be able to fully understand and translate a martian squid language, Amanda is asleep on his knee. 

“Well, I'm glad, I'm not outnumbered any more. Whenever T visits it's like I just disappear into geeky references and climate debate."

"T?"

"A friend of ours. It's a complicated situation we're in so he doesn't visit very often, foot traffic to and from our homes makes us all a little jumpy. You and Amanda an exception.” 

Christopher gets the idea. A lot of people on the company payroll know where they live as the apartment they (Amanda) was given to reside in was not so much purchased for her, rather than re-gifted from a former employee. They weren't in need of it any more. No other details were offered. 

Daniels laughs, “that's a lot of big feelings.” 

He doesn't realise he's looking daggers into the pasta sauce. “Oh, I was just pondering, we don't have much company either. And by that I mean at all. In our case staying quiet doesn't attract attention, and Weyland-Yutani won't sticky-beak.” 

"You're both more or less retired, permanent leave, right? But they have to keep their claws in.” Daniels strains the pasta into the sink. “Sounds like a sketchy arrangement.” 

“If you ask the right person they might tend to agree. Are you?” 

“What?”

“On permanent leave?”

“Fuck no.” Daniels clenches and twists at the handles of the strainer. Back straight, eye to eye with him, Samuels thinks she may look how the word confrontation sounds. “We have nothing to do with them anymore. I- fuck, after my husband... passed, they knew nothing was gonna make me want to stay. I wanted to leave it all behind. With Walter.” 

The insides of Christopher darken as if every spark in him paralyzes, or rather sinks to his feet where he's grounded like lead. The spoon in the pasta sauce is suddenly very still. “My condolences. I can't imagine what it would be like to live through something like that.”

Imagine. Live. He really can't. 

“Thanks, Samuels.” 

Christopher silently carries on cooking in her stead, taking his pot off the stove and adding it to the dish of pasta. Dani hasn't moved since fetching the cheese from the fridge and its easy to see he'd taken an unwelcome step into their lives. Pushing too far as an android who's sympathies could never imitate more than automation, but he genuinely did mean it.

Her stature melts off its defensive shell. “We haven't been around others in such a long time, trustworthy others. But you're us, or just like us, and it's nice to have someone to confide in. Finding people with similar lives, I think there's a bit of comfort in that.”

“I believe there is.” She was right, to a point. They are very different in a lot of ways to the vast population of earth, and beyond Samuels is sure. “Living with me must be immeasurably difficult with my lack of calibration. And living with Amanda is, well, wonderful. Apart from certain aspects. But that's harder on her than me by miles.”

“I don't know, it doesn't take a genius to recognize suffering, and that's a joint effort. Which could be bad or good, depends who it's with." Daniels pats Christopher's back heartily. “Do you want to fetch some plates out? I'm gonna get a water gun onto those two, they've been bitching for an hour.” 

“Godspeed.” Christopher beams through the service window as Amanda's hands appear, thrown up in frustration.

“It's The Last Jedi!”

“If you are insinuating that anything beats the original trilogy, it's easily proven the majority disagree with you.” 

“Okay, listen nerds, Harry Potter? Better than Star Wars. Full stop. So put a cap on it.” Daniels is sure the temperature rises a few degrees, two human(oids) turn eerily in their seats like something from a B-grade horror. _Now that was more her speed._ “Also, less importantly, dinner's up.” 

-

The synthetics had insisted they didn't want to eat as the four surrounded the table. Not only does Walter object quietly on a moral stance to consuming 'flesh', Samuels finds the removal of said foods from his artificial stomach neither pretty nor comfortable. Special occasions an exception. And after Daniels had began choking down a rogue dice of tomato, Amanda waving her hands, karate chopping away Walter's graphic elaboration of said process that set even Christopher's nose up, the women had caved and begun eating without them.

They still found it worth their time to join in, however, comfortably ingesting liquids by their partners sides. Walter settled on icy soda, his radiator doing barely well for itself now, appreciates the help. And Samuels is delighted with a humble glass of water.

The androids seem to get along in the silence that the other two eating had left. They'd been bouncing humour off each other since becoming friends, jokes that would have surely been inhibited from human reception. Something tells Amanda synthetics usually don't share such moments with every John Q. Robot they meet, not relishing each other's company. Hell, the last thing Weyland-Yutani would want is sass being taken the wrong way. But these two with all the time and freedom in the world to do with what they please, had learned quite quickly between them. 

After a bout of vengeful insults towards Walter's accent, he had questioned his younger relative's humour setting, requesting with quite the indulgent grin that it should be at a comfortable seventy-five percent. Sixty when he was informed exactly what he could do with his percentages. And finally fifty-five when Samuels decided a knock knock joke was deemed appropriate.

"Have you ever heard the term respect your elders, Walter?"

Walter’s face doesn’t change, yet seems to beg elaboration before answer. Of course there had to be a trap in the mixing of Christopher’s words and tone of his voice.

"Everyone here is older than me, but I believe my model is aged more than you upon design. So correct me if I'm wrong-”

Samuels' _'young man'_ remark disappears into Amanda's chuckling as she shares a glance with Daniels. Part of her wonders if they had forgotten their presence entirely, existing untethered to protocols in a simpler version of the universe. Uninhibited from their own thoughts even. Another part of her wonders if they had been holding these comments back for so long, finally they were delighting in a similar mind to bounce off. She knows Dani is probably thinking the same.

"-is that not a fallacy?" Walter leans back with a loaded question, his posture far more casual (Samuels would call it lazy) than his friend. "The only fact that comes with age is it does not grant you the right to be prioritised, not as a synthetic. It perhaps does, depending on what you’re made of, dull wits... and lower libido."

“Wald'r!” Daniels chokes on an over confident mouthful of baguette, bringing Walter back to the present suddenly and apologetically. “Wh'd th' fuck?”

Samuels on the other hand, almost looks cocky and Amanda fights the urge to smack his leg. Because due to recent circumstances she had interrupted, _obviously not._

"I wouldn't know." 

"Is that a seventy-five percent wouldn't know, or a twenty-five percent wouldn't know?"

Samuels considers him for a moment. "I also have a discretion setting."

"But not a poker face." Walter sips at his soda. Looking just about as victorious as worn silicone can.

Amanda drops her fork to her plate and covers her eyes, she's laughing but also considering if drowning herself in spaghetti sauce would be a quick enough death. She can certainly think of worse ways to go. 

"Apologies, Amanda." Christopher rubs her knee. 

Daniels is shaking, trying not to eject her food back onto her plate.

“There is no apology great enough that makes me not want to clip through the floor.” Ripley looks as if she’d accidentally conjured up some personalized nightmare and now had to live it out.

Walter dips his head. “I also apologise. For getting caught up in such an awful turn of conversation.”

“It’s okay, I know Chris can be a terrible influence.”

He could look momentarily hurt at this. “I aught not deny that actually. I have been rather awful as far as synthetic companions go of recent.”

“No, Samuels! I was joking.” Amanda hugs his shoulder with a laugh. 

“You might as well deny it.” Seemingly unable to not chime in at this point, Walter smiles over his glass, “we all know better by now in any case.”

Samuels leans on the table, more 'tax accountant' than intimidating. A slew of synthetic insults which were about as tame as Amanda could ever imagine proves Walter’s point. She zones out the banter as Walter insists how impressive it is that the younger model can speak much more than binary let alone three English syllables. And she’s in stitches before she can fully hear her partner round on her, a comment about the director she went ballistic at for calling him scrap- so who is really the terrible influence here? “The one who punched a civilian, probably.”

“Could be any three of us.” _Unfortunately, but not regrettably,_ Dani thinks.

Walter moves to tuck his bandaged wrist under the table too but pauses as she takes his forearm kisses it. Among friends, at the crackling of a fireplace, in warmth of company, this feels just like home. And he shouldn't have to hide anything at home, especially not that.

Amanda raises an eyebrow after shoving an unintentional amount of food in her face.

“Long story short, the head of synthetic resources said Walter wasn’t worth a hand replacement, no matter what the circumstance of its separation was, being an 'old' model. And I took exception to that.” 

“It was my duty.”

“You saved me. More than once.”

Amanda wants to ask, though contrary to evidence, hoping they had met through kinder circumstances. Not willing the loss, the mourning of so many deaths and sacrificed friends, on anyone. 

She doesn't get the chance however as Christopher pipes up with an expression of factual innocence. Maybe just a smudge of unbecoming revenge. "Did you hear that, Walter?... 'Old'.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References. References everywhere.... Sorry this is a day late! In the process of moving from iPhone to Samsung 119 pages were lost and days I had free from work were spent figuring out how to recover it. Also my url on tumblr is now sunnyhomes (was altar-of-pimps), I post about delays and general bs there. Maybe yell with me about these four? Definitely send prompts? I dunno <3 ilu
> 
> (P.S. I was prevented from naming this chapter 'Bot Appétit... "You're welcome" - My Roommate 2018)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm learning present tense so this is a sorry excuse for a fic. Might get better with every chapter. Might get worse. Either way, there's going to be more. shrug


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